


Like a Stake Through the Heart

by SierraBravo



Category: Fright Night (2011), Twilight (Movies), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Vampire hunting, attempted werewolf seduction, trans Peter Vincent, vampire seducing, vampire smooching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 103,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBravo/pseuds/SierraBravo
Summary: Aro finds himself in need of a vampire hunter for hire, and Peter in the unenviable position of being the vampire hunter the ancient vampire chooses.
Relationships: Aro (Twilight)/Lucian (Underworld), Aro (Twilight)/Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent, Aro (Twilight)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 560
Kudos: 107





	1. Bad Business

Peter stirs. He is in the middle of a dream, where inexplicably all the costumes and set pieces have been switched with rainbow pastel monstrosities, and he and the rest of his co-stars are running around trying to get all the stuff spray painted black five minutes before the show is due to start. There is a voice, closer than any of the people, a touch at his shoulder. He squirms, muttering something incoherent in his sleep. 

“No, Ginger, I don’t have to-”

He freezes. Ginger isn’t here. Ginger is dead. Has been dead, for months and months now. And Peter is pretty fucking sure he didn’t bring anyone home last night. He opens one eye very slowly, and blinks. When the world settles into clear shapes, he sees a pale face hovering above him. He screeches. Which isn’t very dignified, but what the actual fuck? He scrambles to get away, to the other side of the bed, and gets himself tangled in the sheets. 

“In your own time,” the pale face says lightly, which is odd for a serial murderer, which this no doubt is.

Hang on. A serial murderer from back home, from England? Peter falls off the bed, hitting his elbow hard on a vibrator he hasn’t put away properly. That would be embarrassing, if he weren’t busy being murdered. He swears, trying to disentangle himself from the sheet, and the figure comes around the corner of his bed. It appears to be a man, clad in a black suit, with a dark cape that flutters in such a perfectly dramatic way that Peter has the brief thought that should he, somehow, survive this encounter he has to ask this guy what tailor he uses to get that look because he needs something like that for his costume.

“Look, Peter, I am not here to bring you harm,” the man says, sounding slightly annoyed.

Peter squints up at him, and the man smiles, as if to reassure him, only the smile reveals a pair of pointed fangs, which rather ruins the effect and also cements Peter’s conviction that he is dying today. Alone in his room in his underwear, not even getting to have a good outfit for his corpse to be found in. Here where Ginger died, too.

“Sounds like something a murderous vampire would say,” Peter shoots back, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he reaches behind him for the stake he keeps in his night stand.

“Looking for this?” the vampire asks, taking the stake out from somewhere under his cape.

Peter’s eyes widen even further, and his heart sinks. He slumps down, giving up. Here, without a weapon, without help, without anything, he has no hope. The vampire watches him, seemingly patient. He has long, dark hair, which falls around his face. It would look good on someone who isn’t a monster. The vampire makes no move to attack him, to suck his blood.

“What- what do you- how did you get in?” he settles on, because the windows aren’t open, nowhere for mist to creep in, and he most certainly has not given the vampire permission to enter. 

But then, not all of them need one. The vampire sits down on the bench at the foot of Peter’s bed, neatly folding his cape over his knees, the stake resting beneath his pale clasped hands. 

“I bribed a guard to give me the code to the lift. You should pay them better.”

“I- uh. Okay?” Peter says, not quite in the right mindset to appreciate feedback on his hiring habits.

Also he has no idea how much he pays them. His assistant deals with all that kind of stuff.

“Good. Now, I assume you’re wondering why I’m here,” the vampire begins.

He still looks faintly amused, and it’s incredibly upsetting. His dark eyes seem to light up with something like mischief, almost, which is an odd vibe for a murderous creature of the night. 

“To eat me?”

Another little smile, another brief flash of fangs.

“Oh, I would not decline a taste if you are offering, but no, not tonight. I am here, now, with a business proposition.”

“You fucking what?”

The vampire raises an eyebrow.

“I would like to hire you,” he clarifies, “in your capacity as a vampire hunter. A real one, not the kind you play on stage.”

Peter narrows his eyes.

“You… want to pay me to kill you? That’s uh. That’s certainly an interesting way to commit suicide.”

“What? No. Absolutely not. You would not be able to, I assure you. But I have certain… opponents, politically speaking, whom I need gone, and I cannot be seen to have anything to do with their disappearances.”

“So you want me to be a hit man?”

The vampire shrugs.

“Whatever term you feel the most comfortable with is fine. But they are vampires, and you are, well. Known to us as someone who harbours a deep hatred of our kind, and so I feel certain no suspicion would fall on me for these deaths. I will, of course, pay handsomely, and provide any equipment that you might need, though I see you have… quite the collection.”

“What the fuck,” Peter demands weakly.

“Is any part of this unclear?”

Every part of this is fucking unclear. Peter is too sleepy for this, and far too sober. 

“I- you want to pay me to kill some vampires for you so, presumably, other vampires don’t get mad at you.”

“Precisely! Well, a bit simplistic, but you have certainly gotten the essence.”

“Why would I agree to this?” Peter demands.

“Well, as I said, I will pay you very well. And you seem somewhat dedicated to hunting vampires already, so I can’t think why you would have a problem with this.”

“You can’t think why I would have a problem working for a vampire?”

“Oh, come now, that’s a bit prejudiced of you,” the vampire argues, absurdly.

“You eat people. You’re a monster.”

“A bit harsh, but I suppose you could make a case that it’s true,” the vampire admits, “but on the other hand I will also kill you if you don’t agree to this. Your blood does smell delightful.”

The vampire keeps smiling, and it is somehow both friendly and utterly terrifying. Peter shifts, because he’s certain enough that he isn’t immediately going to be murdered by now that he is starting to notice how terribly uncomfortable he is.

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose,” Peter says, acutely aware, now, that he is only wearing a pair of boxers and a sheet wrapped around parts of his legs.

And also that he is sitting on top of a pile of sex toys and old vodka bottles. The vampire is, at least, polite enough to pretend not to notice.

“Splendid. It’s a deal, then,” the vampire announces cheerfully, and gets up. 

He approaches, and reaches a hand out, tutting when Peter flinches away. Peter finds his hand grabbed anyway, and is hauled to his feet with what seems like no effort at all. It’s unsettling. What is also unsettling is the odd almost tugging feeling as the cool hand grasps his, that isn’t a physical thing, but something stranger still. The vampire simply watches him, though, benevolently threatening smile in place. From this angle the vampire’s eyes look almost like a dark red.

“’S a deal,” Peter echoes, dazed.

“Excellent. Well, I will get you all the details and the date soon.”

“How? Are you gonna what, email me?”

The vampire looks surprised.

“Am I going to contact you via electronic mail about having vampires killed? Electronic mail that can easily be traced? No, Peter. I am not. I will find you when it’s time.”

Peter runs a hand through his messy hair, and rubs at his eyes.

“Sure. Okay. Not like I have much choice, I suppose. Would you mind, maybe, doing it a slightly less creepy way next time? Maybe show up when I’m awake. Before,” he glances at the sliver of sky visible through the gap in the curtains and makes a guess, “four am, perhaps?”

The vampire pouts, and it’s ridiculous, and Peter is more actively afraid for his life again.

“But that wouldn’t be as much fun,” he argues, “No. No, I think I shall surprise you. Keep you on your toes, you know. It’s good for business.”

Peter doesn’t dare to disagree. The vampire turns to leave with a swish of his cape. If Peter survives this, he is definitely asking about where he got that made.

“Uh. Can I have my stake back?”

The vampire turns, his eyebrows raised, eyes on the sharpened piece of wood in his hand, as if he had forgotten it.

“No. I think I’ll keep this one, thank you.”

He smiles, kindly and infinitely intimidating. In the light from the living room, hitting him more now, his eyes are definitely red. His skin is pale, naturally, almost a greyish white, with just a hint of something unnatural, not quite a texture that skin should have. His features are quite handsome, or would be, on a human. But that’s an absurd thought to have. The only relevant emotion is fear. Perhaps anger, too, but mostly fear.

“What’s your name?” he hears himself ask.

“Why?”

“Uh. Tax purposes?”

Another raised eyebrow.

“Fine. So I can try to research who you are. And, you know, you know my name, so it seems only fair.”

“Your name and picture are on the outside of this building, and on billboards across the city,” the vampire points out.

“Yeah, all right. But still.”

The vampire hesitates for a moment, the very deliberate expressions slipping for the shortest of moments.

“Aro. My name is Aro.”

And then he is gone, as if disappeared in smoke. Peter sags, the tension that was evidently the only thing keeping him upright releasing its grip. He flops down onto the bed, though he knows there is no chance of getting back to sleep tonight. Grabbing blindly at his phone, he checks the time. 04:23. So he has slept maybe all of two hours. Probably less. Great. And he’s got rehearsals before the show today, too. Fuck.

He finds himself a bottle of something very strong and settles on his sofa. Turns on the TV and finds the dumbest, most shallow reality show that’s on. Not the same sort of dumb and shallow as the reality shows back home, but it will do. Can’t be terrified if he’s watching something that’s literally actively killing his neurons.

Shit. 

Shit shit shit.

What the fuck has he gotten himself into? Working for a vampire? Better, he supposes, than being murdered by one, but fucking still, it’s a disastrous idea. Can he run? Possibly. Just leave his life, leave everything behind? But then, what is there? What’s left? His life is all in Vegas, now. No. No, he’ll go through with it, because a couple more vampires gone from this world is a good thing. And then, if he can learn enough, can find his weaknesses, he can maybe take him out, too. Yeah. Yup. That’s the plan. Definitely. He takes a swig of whisky, and coughs. On the screen someone very blond and very tan and repulsively attractive complains about something so inconsequential that even Peter finds it unnecessary.

At least, Peter thinks, if he has to obey the whims of a creepy vampire man, it’s one that looks a proper vampire. Not some basic bullshit like Jerry. Not those creepy black eyes either, though the red isn’t all that much better. But Aro, whoever he is, has got style. Proper vampiric goth style. 

He ends up drifting off eventually, a few hours after the sun has come up, but his dreams are plagued by vampires. Or, well, they are plagued with a vampire who looks surprisingly similar to Aro, whose threats against dream Peter are more physical, pinning him against the wall, sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh of his neck, draining his blood, his life, everything that he is.


	2. Vampire Research Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns about vampires

Peter googles Aro, and then very quickly realises his mistake, but at least he learns a lot about aromanticism. He does so on his phone, sat in a café, where the light is bright, where the sun will keep any vampires away. The last few days he’s been avoiding his flat as much as possible. Doesn’t feel safe there any more, which is a pity, because he was just starting to feel okay being there again.

It’s the spring of 2012, and about seven months since Ginger died, since Jerry came back, since all of Peter’s worst nightmares came true. His home was invaded, his girlfriend killed, his humanity stolen away from him, if only for about fifteen minutes or so. He’s still got bite scars all over his arms and torso, still faintly red and not quite a stand out white yet. They’re pretty easy to cover up for his show, luckily, just dotting over with some industrial strength concealer, because it doesn’t do for a vampire hunter to be covered in bites. A few of his colleagues have asked about them, and he’s told them it’s theme appropriate scarification. It’s not that far from the truth, motivation excluded.

He sips his very large sugary coffee drink, which contains a vast amount of caffeine, because he isn’t entirely comfortable sleeping any more either, even if it’s on a mate’s sofa, or in the bed of a relative stranger. He has considered a hotel room, in a different hotel, but it’s the being alone that’s hard. Of course, Aro might reappear and murder whoever Peter is with, and that would be Peter’s fault, and pretty horrific, but he can admit that it’s mostly for himself. For feeling a little better.

He searches for “Aro + Vampire”, which gets him a series of short stories about an aromantic vampire whose queer platonic life partner is a werewolf. And it’s quite sweet. He’s always been a little sceptical of the stories that portray vampires as sympathetic. On the one hand he has great sympathy for the feeling of being made monstrous, and to use fictional monsters to express that, as a metaphor for being forced outside the normal and safe space in society, and he gets that, but he also very much knows vampires are real, and all he has met have been monsters. Aro, certainly, admitted to it, to being a murderer. And making them into these tortured, romantic souls with questionable fashion sense (even if it is the same kind of questionable fashion as Peter is partial to, but fuck, at least he can admit it), that’s dangerous. It makes their job so much easier for them to hunt, to lure in victims.

There isn’t any relevant information, not any that he can find that seems right, not about the actual vampire in question. Or, well, he finds a reference to a vampire called Aro in Ancient Greece, but that can’t be the same one. For one, this one sounds English, and for another, well. Several thousand years? He’s pretty sure even vampires don’t last that long.

-

In the end, Peter finds Aro in his flat, waiting for him after Peter has finished a performance. He’s sat in one of the nice chairs circling the fake fireplace, holding one of Peter’s wine glasses, which does appear to be filled with blood. The light are off, and it’s nearly midnight, and so when Peter walks in, tossing his wig onto the bar, and flicking on the light, it takes him a second before he sees him, and then he is relatively sure he has a minor heart attack from the shock.

“Fuck,” he shouts.

“Mm, Not what I’m here for quite yet,” Aro says as Peter clutches his chest wondering whether it’s possible for his heart to accidentally break through his ribs, “but again, if you’re offering I won’t say no.”

Peter doesn’t process this, because he is far too busy panicking.

“God, that’s- fuck. Okay. I do appreciate you not waking me like a fucking sleep paralysis demon, but this isn’t that much less creepy.”

“Well,” Aro replies, gesturing broadly with his wine glass, “I thought you would appreciate the drama.”

“That’s, uh, considerate?” Peter says.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He pours himself a glass of gin, adding in a handful of ice cubes, and drains half of it, wincing.

“Are you ready for the details for your assignment?”

“Nope,” Peter replies, “but tell me anyway.”

“I like this look, by the way,” Aro says, cruelly pointing out that Peter has taken off approximately half of his fake beard, which makes him look ridiculous.

“Ah, shut up,” Peter complains, and starts to rip the rest off, getting half way through before realising he should maybe not be telling the terrifying murderous vampire sitting less than six feet away to shut up.

He stares at Aro with wide eyed fear, but the vampire simply looks very amused.

“Worry not. You’re too useful to murder over something like that. For now. I have to say, though the fake facial hair is not particularly flattering.”

Peter peels the rest of it off, dropping it on the side table next to his glass. He feels just a little self conscious, being shirtless, which isn’t usually a problem he has. If anything, after more than two decades of not having been able to be shirtless he is trying hard to catch up, but he worries Aro can see his scars. Well, the vampire scars, not the top surgery ones. Those are cool. But he would prefer it if the vampire didn’t know that he had been munched on by about ten vampires.   
Getting up to put a shirt on, though, would just draw attention to it.

“Good. Yeah. Sorry. Bad mouth, me, always been a problem. Nothing personal. Vampire murder details?”

He sounds like an idiot, but he’s pretty scare, and so he will let it fly. Aro has gotten in again, easily, though Peter has changed the code and fired the guard (look. He’s all for workers rights and knows he’s not a great person to be working for, but he does draw the line at letting murderous creatures of the night into his flat), and so he doesn’t know how he managed. Is he just meant to accept it? That the vampire can appear to torment him whenever he wants?

“Ah, yes. Now, the vampires are not of the same strain as me. They are a European species, I’m not certain whether you’re familiar, but their main weaknesses are UV light, fire, and they are vulnerable to a stake through the heart. Now, of course, holy symbols are entirely useless, as is silver, garlic, and trying to have them count large amounts of small objects.”

“Right. Get a crossbow, couple of stakes. A molotov cocktail or two. Not much to do about the sunlight, maybe. Hard to weaponise.”

“This is true. Now, I do in fact have access to weaponry with UV light ammunition, but you cannot, I am afraid, have any, because they are far too rare, and too easy to trace.”

“Right. But good to know those exist. What kind of place are they at? Is it far? Do you know how many there are?”

Aro nods approvingly, possibly at Peter stopping rambling to take this a bit more seriously. Possibly he is recognising how very hot and cool Peter is. Either is, he thinks, equally likely, definitely. In this lighting, bright and cold, Aro looks perhaps even more inhuman than he did in the semi darkness. His eyes are a bright blood red, horrifying and unnatural. And his skin texture is definitely off. It looks too matte, but not in the sense of dry skin or matte make up, more like a very thin layer of skin stretched over a quarts sculpture, a hint of something mineral based lurking beneath. His hair is slightly more wavy this time, which leads Peter to the odd thought that this vampire does his hair. It’s logical, of course, that he must, certainly it probably is physically capable of getting messed up, but the mental image of his standing with a straightener or curling iron in front of a mirror is incredibly strange and pretty funny. But that’s a thought for when the monster in question isn’t sitting across for him looking as if he might be wondering what Peter is zoning out about.

“Mirrors!” he exclaims, like an idiot.

“Mirrors?”

“Mirrors. Do they show up in them?”

“Why, are you basing your strategy on Perseus’ pursuit of Medusa?”

Peter shrugs.

“Maybe. Just be good to know.”

“To my knowledge they are not immune to mirrors, no.”

“Are you?”

Aro regards him for a moment, as if appraising the threat.

“I am not,” he settles on, presumably figuring Peter probably can’t kill him with reflective glass.

“Right. Good to know. Don’t suppose you’re intending to tell me your weaknesses?”

“It was not my plan, no. I do hope you are not planning on attempting to kill me, Peter. I can assure you it will not go well for you.”

“What? Course not! Just, err, professional interest, is all. Curious as all fuck, I am. Just interested in, well, you. Vampires, I mean, not you specifically.”

God, shut up.

Aro smiles, careful delight showing off sharp fangs. His lips, Peter notices, entirely against his better judgement, are quite pretty. Red with blood. God he hopes there’s not a dead body from which that blood came somewhere in his flat. He doesn’t think he can deal with that. 

“Entirely understandable, of course. I am terribly fascinating, I cannot blame you. But as for your targets, there ought not to be more than three. They have made their base on the outskirts of the city. Here, I’ve written down the address for you.”

Aro hands him a post it note, presumably one of Peter’s, because it’s pink with the little bats on it, on which is written in absolutely beautiful calligraphy, with what seems like an almost dry pen, an address. Their fingers brush, and again Peter feels that strange sensation. He wonders if it’s somehow hypnotism, or some sort of mind control. Hopefully not. But it does make him think of something.

“Do they have like, weird mind control powers? Hypnotism? Super speed, super strength, super senses, that sort of thing?”

Aro frowns for a minute.

“I think, compared to humans, yes, their senses are heightened. They will be somewhat challenging to sneak up on, I am sure, but I have all faith in your abilities.”

“I don’t,” Peter mutters before he can think better of it.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure the threat of imminent death by vampire will be ample motivation to do your best.”

“Can they turn into bats and wolfs and rats and mist and things?”

“Not,” Aro replies, with the weary expression of someone used to having preconceptions thrown in his face, “to my knowledge, no.”

When Aro has gone, Peter finds a drained bag of human blood in the kitchen, the kind they use in hospitals. While it is, of course, bad to steal from hospitals, at least this is blood that’s been voluntarily donated, if not, probably, with vampires in mind. The bag is rinsed out, drying next to the recycling. Which is odd, the thought of an environmentally conscious vampire. Then again, he is presumably on this planet for the long haul, so Peter supposes it must make sense for him to be invested in its survival.

He drinks until the fear settles into a low, baseline anxiety, and puts on the TV as he falls asleep, but it still takes a while, and once more his dreams are plagued with visions of a pale face wreathed in black smoke, bright red eyes peering into his own. Sharp fangs grazing Peter’s throat, and the cool hands on his skin. If Peter wakes up wet and panting, that’s entirely a coincidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in 21 hours, flexing arm emoji.


	3. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to do what Aro has ordered him to on pain of death, and only makes like, three serious mistakes, tops.

Peter goes in, heavily armed. He’s got his stake shotgun, a crossbow, a few vials of holy water with some garlic paste mixed in, just in case, and the ingredients to put together some quick molotov cocktails. There is an UV torch in his pocket too, but it’s not working great, and he’s not certain it’s strong enough to do anything to the vampires. 

It’s a few days since he talked to Aro, since that creepy fucked just showed up in his flat uninvited, and within the window Peter has been given, when the vampires will be staying here. It’s some sort of safe house, apparently, for vampires, and though the completely covered up, blacked out windows look a bit suspicious, it seems they have not been discovered by anyone. Well, not anyone not directly informed of their whereabouts by someone who is betraying them, anyway.

He’s going in just after dawn, so he can, if needed, escape back out into the sunlight, however dim it is today. The lock is easy enough to pick. He taught himself how, years and years ago, mostly as a fun trick, but these days it’s genuinely useful. It’s quiet. Dark, when he gets in, and no trace of any cameras. They’re not here for long, only a few days while some sort of vampire business is taking place. Aro didn’t go into great detail about it. Presumably it’s important vampire stuff.

The hope is, of course, that the vampires have gone to bed. To coffin? Peter isn’t sure whether any vampires actually sleep in coffins in real life, but it does seem like an efficient way to block out sunlight. He sneaks through a long dark hallway. He hasn’t got his long leather coat on, partially because it’s somewhat squeaky and bad for sneaking, but also it’s just way too long and gets caught on stuff. Once he almost got bit because he got stuck on a piece of broken wood.

There are no sounds here, no traps that he can spot, and not signs of vampires. There are a few rooms that appear to be offices, stocked with books and documents, and Peter briefly considers looking through them, but this isn’t the time for that. Besides, it’s too much to get any overarching idea. Also, Aro might not approve, and the threat of murder still clings to Peter’s consciousness constantly.

There is another lock on the door down to the cellar, where presumably the vampires lurk. This one is trickier, takes Peter longer. He’s careful, takes his time, trying to keep from making any loud noises. Eventually, though, the door opens with a faint creak, just loud enough to nearly give Peter a heart attack. He stills for a moment, trying to control his breathing, listening for any movement from below. There’s nothing, other than the beating of his heart, which he is convinced can be heard for a full mile radius. 

When no one shows up to murder him, he makes his way down the stairs. He’s got a stake clutched in his hand, and it goes smooth, descending into the darkness, and it goes smooth, good, until some part of what he’s stepping on slides, sending him tumbling down to the floor noisily. The shotgun goes flying out of the harness he keeps it in. He doesn’t move, for a moment, both to make sure he can’t hear anything, but also because he feels a bit like he’s been put through a blender. This is, he realises, in part because the vials of garlicky holy water have been crushed, and some glass shards have gotten dug into his back. Shit. He can hear steps approaching. Extra shit. Double shit. An insurmountable pile of shit.

“Human,” he hears someone hiss. 

Their voice sounds hoarse, so perhaps the vampires had been asleep. Fuck. Peter scrambles to his feet, wincing in pain, hoping the adrenaline will kick in soon to make him not feel it. He gets the small crossbow, managing to get it out in front of him just as a shape appears from a doorway he hadn’t noticed. It’s a reflex, more than active action, that he fires. 

“Fuck,” the vampire hisses, but it fails to go up in a cloud of dust. 

Peter squints, and it does seem like he hit the vampire in the stomach, rather than anywhere near the heart, which explains the vampire’s failure to die. It advances as Peter struggles to reload the crossbow.

“What are you doing here, human? How did you know to find us?”

So there are very definitely several of them, then. Good to know.

Peter, in a moment of drama and poor judgement that some may argue are intrinsic to him as a person, gestures broadly down at himself, and the array of weapons strapped to his body.

“To kill vampires.”

The vampire, who looks as if it used to be a white man in his late thirties, with a vaguely Slavic look and accent, laughs.

“You need to try harder, then.”

Which, coincidentally, is just when Peter manages to finish reloading the crossbow, and fires it again. The bolt pierces the vampire’s upper arm, because aiming in the dark, this close, while panicking, is pretty fucking hard. The heart isn’t all that big, and half of it is protected by bone, and though Peter has practised extensively on hitting it, the reality of vampire hunting is different than training on a dummy.

“A bit closer,” the vampire taunts, wincing as it pulls the bolt from its flesh, then breaking it in two one handed.

From the room behind it, Peter can hear shuffling. He drops the crossbow, despite his deep preference for ranged weaponry, and gets out a stake, backing up a little. The vampire laughs, and halfway through the noise it lunges for Peter.

“Fuck,” Peter shouts, but he managed to get his stake up, and in just the right position, so that when the vampire shoves him back against the stairs it is also pushing the stake into its own chest. 

Its eyes widen for a second, before it dissolves into ash. Peter gasps in shock, and accidentally inhales some of the vaporised vampire. Gross. He coughs, then picks up the shot gun, hoping that it might do better than the crossbow. Fire’s not an option, because those bottles are broken also. Another figure appears in the door, and this time Peter gives himself half a second to aim, and the short miniature stake catches the vampire in the chest, and it, too, crumbles into dust. Okay. Good. This is going well. He goes to reload, just as the third vampire appears. The space is narrow, which is good, keeping them from ganging up on him, but he’s no entirely sure whether there are more after this. He tries to shoot this vampire as well, but the gun jams.

“Fuck.”

The vampire, this one looking as if it was a young woman before it died, smirks. Peter, not thinking entirely clearly, tosses the gun at its head. The vampire blocks it easily, and laughs.

“What are you trying to do, Hunter?”

“Fuck,” Peter mutters again, digging through his jacket for a stake.

The vampire raises a thin eyebrow. 

“No thank you,” it says, in amused tone that’s so similar to Aro it’s unsettling.

“Fuck off,” Peter tells it, fingers locking around the stake.

Without warning, the vampire surges forward, pinning Peter to the wall. He swears, again, but he manages to wedge a knee between his chest and the vampires, enough so that it can’t quite reach his throat with it’s fangs. It hisses in his face, and this close he can see the eyes have gone completely black, sclera and all. Just like Jerry. Fuck.

“I’m going to relish the taste of your blood,” the vampire snarls.

“You fucking better,” Peter tells it, as the sharp nails, so sharp they might be claws, dig into the the flesh of his wrists, “I’m a fucking snack.”

Luckily, that’s when he manages to wriggle out of its grasp, and he dives for one of the stakes he’s dropped, embedding some more broken glass in his arm. If he survives this, getting all those tiny shards out is going to be a nightmare. God, he better survive this, because those would be embarrassing last words. 

Hearing the vampire move, he squirms, turns onto his back, holding the stake up and away from him, and by sheer luck, this vampire too manages to essentially stake itself. This shoves the back of the stake into Peter’s sternum hard enough that’s left on the ground, gasping for air, coughing and trying not to inhale too much vampire.

Aside from his breathing, there is silence, now, and so he allows himself a minute to recover before he struggles to his feet. He brushes ash and glass from himself, wincing at every movement. The clattering sounds terribly loud. Very slowly, and carefully, he edges towards the only doorway, from which the vampires had appeared. It leads to a large room, in which there are, satisfyingly, three coffins. They are quite simple, minimalist designs, and all three are open and empty. There is no light down here, possibly because the vampires have significantly better dark vision than Peter. He lights up the UV torch, which he had forgotten about in the fight. Aro had said there were probably not more than three, and that seems to be correct. 

There were no instructions on how to leave the scene. Peter supposes he could leave a note saying Aro did this, but it is possible not only that Aro has given him a fake name, but also the extreme likelihood that Aro will find out, and gruesomely murder him. Which isn’t great. He seems like he’s serious about that stuff.

The ride back home in the morning sun, filtered through a thin layer of clouds, is painful. He gave himself a few minutes, back in the safe house, to get the most obvious glass pieces out of his skin, but there are very obviously a few pieces he’s missed, and it hurts like fuck.

“Jesus fucking christ!”

When the doors to the lift opens, Peter sees Aro waiting for him, and he nearly tries to fire the crossbow he’s holding.

“Lovely fellow. Met him a few times,” Aro jokes.

“I take it the vampires are no more?” 

“Yeah,” Peter confirms, wincing as he bends down to put his stuff down on the floor.

“You’re hurt.”

“Yup.”

He groans, and hears Aro follow him into the living room, where he grabs the closest bottle off the bar and twists the top off. It burns gently going down, but at least it washes that horrible ashy taste from his mouth. The room is dark, not letting in any sun, because Peter is nocturnal enough that he’s got blackout curtains everywhere, but it is a bit odd that Aro is here in the day time. He doesn’t quite dare ask, though. Not yet. Also, he really needs to keep drinking.

There’s a touch against his lower back, and he flinches.

“Would you like me to help you get the glass out?” Aro asks.

“I’m good,” Peter insists reflexively, although he hasn’t actually made a plan as to how he is going to do so.

Which is how he ends up, five minutes later, leaning over the back of a chair as Aro uses a pair of tweezers to get the glass out of him. It’s an investment, the vampire had claimed, adding that he has more tasks for Peter, seeing as this went so well. Their definitions of well, evidently, differ somewhat, but Peter did come out of it alive, which is something, he will admit. 

“The glass vials were, perhaps, not the best of ideas,” Aro suggests, pulling a shard stuck in particularly deep from Peter’s lower back.

“Ow, fuck! Sorry. Hurts. But yeah, fine. ‘S all my fault, I get that. Won’t- Won’t do it again, if you go through with not killing me.”

Aro sighs.

“If I were intending to kill you, would I be doing this?”

Peter shrugs, and immediately regrets the motion, hissing in pain. He takes another drink. 

“Probably not,” he admits.

“I am not. Having a vampire hunter I can rely on, who can be somewhat discreet, it’s useful to me.”

“That’s me. Discreet.”

Aro laughs softly.

“I think the absurdity of you helps, if anything. It makes it so incredibly unlikely that you would be an actual competent hunter.”

“Rude.”

“Well, I am a terrifying monster. You shall have to forgive my rudeness.”

Peter snorts in laughter. This is weird. This is very, very weird, isn’t it? Terrifying creepy vampire man helping him out? In such a sort of weirdly intimate way. It feels almost nice. Almost friendly, only with the threat of murder hanging over him still. 

“Suppose I’m not in a position to complain. I- thank you? For this?”

“Simply taking care of an investment,” Aro assures him, but there sounds like there’s a hint of a smile.

“Sure. By the way, not to complain, but when will you transfer the money?”

There is a short moment of silence.

“There is a bag of cash in your bedroom. Less traceable.”

“Course. Course there’s a bag of cash. God forbid there be anything not as shady as possible in this transaction.”

“Do you not think it might be more suspicious if someone anonymously transferred you this much?”

“Don’t know. Get paid pretty good usually.”

“Well, either way. This seemed safer.”

“Okay,” Peter says, somewhat numbly.

His life has, this last week and a half, gotten very absurd. Granted, it’s never really been standard, but working for a vampire is a lot fucking different from being hunted by them. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t really like Aro, but he does, he has to admit, dislike him less than at the start. Enough so that he is a person, in Peter’s mind, unlike the vampires he killed earlier. A very strange and scary one, yes, but clearly a person, still, in control of his own actions rather than controlled by some other vampire. Well, presumably that is the case. It’s hard to know.

“There,” Aro announces, as a tiny piece of glass drops into the bin, “that’s the last of it.”

“Sure?”

“I have supernaturally good vision. I am sure.”

There’s a hint of an edge to his voice, and Peter realises that something, relief or stress or pain has lulled him into a false sense of security. He’s downed half a bottle, too, which, to be fair, might be a contributing factor.

“Yeah. Course. Sorry.”

Aro leaves shortly after, reassuring Peter that he will be in touch when next Peter is needed, and no, he will absolutely not let him know beforehand, and no, not just appearing out of the blue would take the fun out of it. So Peter has to resign himself to expecting to be scared out of his mind every time he- well. Sort of always, really.

As Peter lies down on his sofa, trying to fit in a power nap before his show tonight, he feels the ghost of cool fingers on his skin. The gentleness of that action, the care with which it was done. It’s such an odd combination, isn’t it? The terrifying monster, but who is sort of funny, and who cares enough about Peter, as an asset, but still, to help him with his injuries. 

He tries not to move too much, but it hard, he’s too stressed, and in too much pain, to properly relax. The bandages feel rough and scratchy on sore, lacerated skin, and the painkillers aren’t helping at all, other than to make him feel faintly nauseated. Again, that could be the booze.

As he lays there he can’t help going over their interaction in his head. It’s unsettling, deeply so, but it’s also- no. Peter’s just been feeling lonely, that’s it. Ginger has been gone for so long, and it turns out his girlfriend of five years can’t be replaced by random sexual partners he never wants to see more than once. Because Aro is a terrifying monster, and sort of his employer, but probably not in any very legal sense. Nope. Not going there, thank you very much brain. Absolutely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once broke a glass door with my foot, can confirm having a bunch of broken glass stuck in you isn't great.


	4. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter fucks up

Peter does two more murders for Aro in the following month. These two go somewhat better, in the sense that he himself gets injured less, but worse in the sense that the second time, one vampire gets away. Aro isn’t happy about this, naturally. He isn’t waiting when Peter, having after several hours of daylight, given up his search. Instead the vampire finds him the following evening.

“What happened?” he demands, and the usual humour isn’t present in his voice.

He’s entirely cold, now, clearly displeased, and Peter is suddenly incredibly aware of how easily the vampire can kill him, should that be what he decides.

“Uh. There- There were more of them than I expected. Three more. And, look, clearly we agree I am an- sorry. There were twice as many as I was prepared for, and I was a bit early. Was still dark out, so one of them got away. There were two of them on me, at the time, couldn’t follow. And I tried, you know, tried as soon as I managed to dust the others, to follow. But they got away.”

“I am very aware of this.”

Peter runs his hands through his hair, matted with blood and vampire dust, and wishes briefly that he was more badly injured than just minor bruises and cuts, feels like that might make Aro less likely to decide to murder him. He glances at Aro, who is still regarding him coldly, blood red eyes narrowed, and the thing is, Peter feels bad. He feels guilty. Not because he’s worried Aro might kill him, or at least not only that, but because he doesn’t want to fail him. He doesn’t want Aro to be disappointed with him. Like a weird Stockholm syndrome situation or something. That’s an emotion to deal with.

“You want me to try again?”

“No. I found and killed her, but I shouldn’t have to do that.”

“No. Course not. I’m sorry.”

Peter hates himself, just a little bit, for being so apologetic, but manages to justify it with the imminent threat of being murdered. He isn’t a brave man, he knows this about himself, and it has never particularly been an issue. Usually running from his problems works great, but when the problems seem to know exactly where he is and what is happening at all times, that becomes significantly harder. 

“I won’t be paying you for this.”

“Hang on-” Peter begins, forgetting everything, “I still go five of them!”

And then, quite without Peter noticing how it happened, he is pinned to the wall. His face presses into the cool surface, and a frighteningly strong hand is gripping both his wrists behind his back.

“Don’t try me,” Aro snarls into his ear, and a shiver runs down Peter’s spine.

“Sorry! Sorry. Course you won’t pay me. Completely understandable! Please don’t eat me.”

He feels Aro’s cold breath on his neck. His heart is trying very hard to escape from its rib based confines. Through the thin fabric of his t-shirt there is the faint sensation of Aro’s hair, just barely brushing against his back. 

“I won’t,” Aro says at last, “not yet. But remember yourself, mortal.”

He releases him, and Peter slumps against the wall, breathing heavily. 

-

Peter doesn’t hear from Aro for the next few months. In the start he keeps expecting the vampire to pop up at any moment, keeps checking every room in his flat for a while, looking for him, for abandoned bags of blood. But there is never anything, and three months on he has gotten used to things being back to normal. Perhaps Aro has gone back to Europe. Or just away from Vegas. Peter wouldn’t blame him. There are less sunny places to be found, that are probably better for vampires with severe sun allergies.

Stuff is mostly good. He goes on one self initiated vampire hunt, but having to do the research himself is a lot more work, and with his jobs for Aro there is somehow more of a reassuring sense that if something happens to him, at least someone will know what. He’ll be noticed if he disappears, of course, but his death will be a mystery. Of course, his targets are smaller. Not any mysterious vampire political assassinations, just the source of a sudden surge in missing people.

He gets back into therapy, briefly, for grief and substance abuse, but he ghosts them pretty quick when he realises, once more, that for a lot of the stuff that’s going on there is no normal explanation. It helps, though, a little bit. Not as much as the drinking does, not as much as trying to bury all his emotions and fears deep deep down. 

The thing is, though, that after a while, after the first month, he finds himself looking for Aro. And not just out of fear. Sometimes, in his dreams, Aro is there, pressing him up against the wall, but for entirely different reasons. Which is bad! It’s super bad. It’s very bad. It doesn’t feel bad.

But the thing is, Peter argues uselessly with himself, the thing is that vampires are meant to be sexy, aren’t they? Part of their whole thing. The reason they look human, that they aren’t like zombies or werewolves or other made up monsters that look creepy and inhuman, is to lure humans in. And Aro is good looking. He has got the gothic pallor, the creepy red eyes that manage, still, to be pretty. The long, dark hair into which in one half waking fantasy Peter imagines himself tangling his fingers. Lips so red Peter genuinely wonders whether he uses make up. Fangs. Peter blames his thing for fangs both on his many vampire related traumas, as well as doing a show about extremely sexy vampires wearing bad fake fangs for half a decade.

The important thing, in the end, is that Aro must never find out.

-

It’s four months later and almost Halloween the next time Peter sees Aro. He’s on his sofa, playing a video game, trying to shoot spooky Scandinavian skeletons with a magical bow. He has accepted, grudgingly, that his body is more than halfway through its thirties, and so he has a sort of complex set of of pillows built into a semi ergonomic throne of precariously stacked cushions. A half empty beer bottle and an entirely empty coffee cup are stacked worryingly close to the edge of a cushion, which turns out to be a mistake, because he looks away from the screen for a moment, sees the dark figure in the doorway, and flinches hard enough to raze his entire careful cushion construction to the ground. 

“Fuck! God! Jesus!”

“Aro is fine, thank you.”

Peter climbs up from his collapsed mess of pillows, nearly strangling himself on the cord of his headphones and getting one of his legs soaked in spilled beer. This is ideal. This is the way he wants Aro to see him, at his most pathetic.

“Uh,” Peter says, intelligently, “hi, sorry, you. Uh. Startled me.”

“Yes, I see. Is that- Is that your face on your shirt?”

Peter looks down at himself. He had forgotten he was wearing his own merch t-shirt, one of the older ones, which is terribly designed but very soft and comfortable. He makes an uncomfortable noise.

“...Maybe. It’s laundry day, all right?”

Aro raises an eyebrow.

“Look. Wasn’t expecting you, right, it’s been four months. Thought you’d decided against needing me.”

“I’ve merely been away, for a while. But now I find myself in need of your services once more. Provided, of course, that you won’t prefer death.”

Peter sighs. Looks briefly and hopefully into the upside down coffee cup, but it cannot provide him more sweet caffeine. 

“Course. More hunting. Can do. What sort of one you need dead and dusted this time?”

Aro approaches, perches on the side of a chair, hands folded over his knee. He’s in a black suit again, relatively normal, wearing a pendant shaped like an ornate V. For vampire? Not very subtle. There is no cape this time, which is a shame, but perhaps he is trying to be a bit less noticeable. Although he is a bit too striking for that really to be possible. There are, of course, red contacts that he could conceivably be wearing, but that’s still a relatively unusual look.

“This one is a bit different. You will have to travel somewhat farther.”

“Oh?”

Peter is trying to angle himself so as to hide both his own stupid grinning face on his shirt and beer stains and the general vibe he is giving off that he’s not really moved anywhere since last night. Which is true. He has a couple of days off between shows, and while he spent the first going out and getting really fucked up, he is prioritising relaxing some in a more traditional way too. It feels unfair that Aro managed to find him at his least dignified, but perhaps it was on purpose. Though how would he know? Are there secret creepy cameras installed in his flat? No, surely not. 

“Yes. A little ways North, out of state.”

“Ah. So much for my time off, then.”

“Precisely. A time when you won’t be missed.”

Peter grimaces.

“Sounds ominous.”

Aro smiles, ominously.

“Not so much. In fact, you’ll be far safer this time. I need you to attack a meeting. Which I will be at. To avoid suspicion, you understand.”

Peter stares at him blankly.

“Oh.”

“I trust this will not pose a problem?”

“Oh, no, course, no issue. Great at acting, me.”

Aro makes a noise which suggest that he, perhaps, does not quite agree.

“What? How would you know?”

“Your ads are everywhere, Peter. They are difficult to avoid.”

“Well,” Peter argues, righteously, “that’s not how you’re meant to experience it. You’ve got to have had at least two or three drinks before the show. Get in the right mind space. Though I guess you,” he gets into his worst Bela Lugosi impression, “never drink wine.”

From Aro’s expression it seems that this is not the first time someone has made that particular joke.

“Sorry,” Peter adds when Aro fails to respond.

“Either way,” Aro continues pointedly, “I have some ideas for good strategies that takes advantage of, ah, my species particular resistances compared to my fellow vampires.”

“What, you’re some sort of invulnerable super vampire?”

Aro shrugs, in a way that very clearly communicates that yes, he is, and it’s not that big a deal, but he would like it noted nevertheless. 

“And these people you’re meeting with. Not so much?”

“They are somewhat weaker, yes.”

“Can’t you just kill them yourself, then?”

“I could. But the idea is to let one get away. To know that we are under attack by humans. It will make some of the ideas I am trying to get accepted somewhat easier to get accepted.”

“Huh,” Peter says, “you strike me as more of a… Well not brute force, maybe, but uh. Not someone who needs others to agree.”

“Sometimes it is advantageous to be seen as not having forced a decision,” Aro says, neatly confirming Peter’s suspicion.

He doesn’t know too much about international vampire politics, but Aro seems to be heavily involved. And hey, in that way, this might be useful. Might let Peter learn more, stuff he can use in his own, private vampire hunting. Which, well, how likely is it he will dismantle vampire polite society? Not very. But it’s another way to justify this, which he really doesn’t want to do, in addition to his not particularly wanting to be murdered and eaten, and not necessarily in that order.

“So. You agree, yes?”

“Yep. Not got much choice, do I? But I do. Research for my show, sort of. Maybe I can get the travel expenses covered.”

“Probably not.”

“You’re right, but it’s worth trying. Any intention of paying me this time?”

“If everything goes according to plan, yes.”

“Well. Just a whole load of incentives then. Excellent. Let’s go hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main points of this chapter: Peter wearing his own face on his shirt, Aro pressing Peter into a wall and giving him ideas.


	5. Vampire Murder Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a confusing time

It’s a ten hour drive to the remote location where the vampire meeting is held, which is pretty bad. Peter wishes once more, that he was back in a sensible country where the concept of trains existed, however flawed the British system is. Granted, bringing this many weapons on the train would probably be frowned upon back home. But staring at nothing but road and too bright sun and getting bored of his driving playlist after the first hour makes him quickly regret agreeing to this. Of course, the alternative would be worse.

They had spent a few hours that night, the day before yesterday, coming up with a plan. It was the first time Peter spent more than half an hour with the vampire, and it was… odd. In the beginning he was so terribly aware of Aro, of how scared he ought to be, but as seems to happen in the vampire’s company he quickly forgot, got comfortable. It is so different, but so- nice isn’t the right word, perhaps, but it is such a relief to be able to talk about the supernatural properly, with someone who knows it to be real. Admittedly because he is one of the supernatural beings, but still. Sure, Peter communicates with scholars on folklore and enthusiasts, but none of them really accept the reality of vampires, which Peter learned the hard way.

The very unfair thing about Aro, is that he is very interesting. Which of course, anyone who has been alive for that long (Peter doesn’t know how long, and hasn’t asked, but he guesses at maybe the eighteenth century. He’s got that kind of vibe) is bound to have a lot of interesting knowledge. And when he isn’t threatening Peter (which according to his subconscious is clearly of interest in other ways), he is charming. And sort of nice. Which is confusing. He doesn’t want to enjoy the company of this monstrous being who he is working for under the threat of being murdered. He does.

He gets to the general area an hour or so before sunset, and parks in a bright spot, where vampires can’t get to him. Sets an alarm, crawls into the back seat, and curls up for a short, uncomfortable nap. When his phone rings, it feels like approximately half a minute has passed, and he feels absolutely terrible. And yet. Yet he keeps trying. 

It has gotten darker now, the sky turning purple, and Peter gets a can of iced coffee, currently quite warm, out of his bag and drains it despite its less than ideal taste. He needs energy for this.

-

The place is strange, doesn’t fit in the landscape at all. The inside is all marble or faux marble hallways, cavernous halls, every hint at modern technology well hidden. Peter can’t even get a signal on his phone, which is probably wise, because if he gets murdered because his phone unexpectedly rings that would be embarrassing. Perhaps it was built for the vampires, for this purpose. A secret, hidden meeting place. From the amounts of cash Aro pays Peter, he could certainly afford to have a place like this built. And he might very well have, because he had a copy of the blue prints, which he and Peter studied together. 

He creeps around the place, along a catwalk circling the main meeting chamber, where according to Aro the whatever, the vampire meeting or council will take place. Setting up a spot. He’s got about half an hour to get ready, according to Aro. There are supposed to be about ten of them at this thing, which is more vampires than Peter has ever fought. Well, nine, one of them is Aro. And one of them is meant to get away. So he needs to get rid of eight of them, on his own. He has managed five before. Should be doable, probably. With traps. With some lined up shots from above. An ambush.

-

One of the vampires dodges the wooden bolt Peter shoots at it, and draws a gun. Which seems odd, really, at a vampire gathering, having a gun, but perhaps it is silver bullets, perhaps that’s the weakness of one of the vampiric representatives gathered. Whatever it’s made of, though, it’ll work on his fragile human body. All this goes through his mind very quickly, as he throws himself to the side in order to dodge the shot. 

He doesn’t quite make it. He feels the sharp pain as it hits his left wrist, and he swears he can hear the bone crack, but the bullet still goes through. There is a noise behind him, and as he stumbles over something and hits the ground, he hears another shot, but before he can even think, before he can resign himself that this is it, he’s dead, there is a dark shape blocking him. From behind the shape there is a loud noise, a bright light haloing, followed by a scream. Peter is faintly surprised that it doesn’t come from him. 

The shape in front of him clarifies himself into Aro, who looks at him, briefly, as if to assess whether he’s going to live, before disappearing in a blur. It’s the first time Peter has properly seen just how absolutely ridiculously inhumanly fast the vampire moves. It is incredibly strange, because so far, everything Peter has seen of the vampire could, arguably, be just a human. While he certainly can do things human can’t, Peter hasn’t personally witnessed it, and somehow it very thoroughly drives home the point of his truly being something else. But something else that, if Peter understood correctly, just took a bullet for him with no problem. 

Peter can’t watch forever, though, so he grabs a stake from his belt with his good hand. The other one hurts, but he is so full of adrenaline that it isn’t quite reaching his brain properly, not yet. He gets up, backing away into a corner, trying to get an overview. There are vaguely human shaped piles of dust in several places, more, he thinks, than there should be. He watches Aro literally rip the head of one vampire from the rest of their body, which is terrifying, and absolutely fucking wild. It seems a strange and inefficient way to kill someone. That appears to be the last one, though, whoever is left has run away.

Peter drops the stake, which clatters on the floor, and sinks down. Leans his head against the cool surface of the wall. His wrist is a sharp pain, and he cradles it against himself, blood soaking into his t-shirt. 

“Are you badly hurt?”

Peter hadn’t noticed Aro’s approach, or his kneeling down next to him. Those red eyes are watching his hurt arm. Watching his blood. Ah. Bad.

“Think it might be broken.”

“Let me see.”

Peter hesitates, but holds it out for the vampire to inspect. He prods at it, bends it, and it hurts quite badly. He runs a finger through the blood, licking it off.

“Hey! Employee not food,” Peter complains.

“Mm. A delicious one, though,” Aro says, and doesn’t seem apologetic in the least.

Peter watches him nervously, but Aro seems almost disappointed.

“I am not going to eat you, Peter. Still. I had someone for breakfast.”

This does not reassure Peter. Especially not if he’s hurt. Do vampires need to feed to heal their wounds? 

“Hold on- you got- Did the vampire shoot you?”

Aro frowns.

“Ah. Yes. That is unfortunate.”

He turns away from Peter, revealing his back.

“Is the damage too bad?”

There is a small hole in his jacket and shirt, through which Peter can see pale, undamaged skin. Which- is this fucking vampire bullet proof?

“It’s- there’s nothing.”

“No, I mean my jacket. This is outrageously expensive.”

He sounds genuinely worried, and Peter can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It’s one of those where he can’t stop, can’t control it.

“What?” Aro demands, sounding a little put out.

Peter needs a few minutes to collect himself.

“Life is just- fuck. Life is so fucking weird. You’re, and I mean this in the please do not kill me-est way possible, also absurd.”

“I think perhaps the blood loss is getting to you. Do you have any medical supplies? There is, for obvious reasons, nothing here.”

“Uh. Yeah. Got a first aid kit in my car.”

“Can you walk?”

“Fucking hope so.”

-

They get to the car a couple of hours before dawn. There is a full moon, and so it’s reasonably bright even for Peter, because this road is small enough that there aren’t any street lights. There are sounds of insects buzzing, and the atmosphere would almost be nice, if Peter’s wrist didn’t hurt so fucking badly. He’s not sure how he’s going to get through another ten hour drive. Maybe he can get a hotel room, crash for a couple of hours. Shower. Eat a lot of pain killers.

He instructs Aro in how to locate the first aid kit, hidden deep in the mess of stuff in his car. It’s both not all that clean, and there is a layer of snack wrappers, empty take away cups and other rubbish on the floor in the back, and he feels faintly embarrassed to have Aro see this. The vampire cleans his wound, without any more tasting of his blood. He’s oddly gentle, and bandages it carefully.

“Why are you doing this?” Peter asks, “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but just. You don’t have to. I’ll live.”

“As I’ve said, taking care of my investment,” Aro replies.

“No. No, this is more. Because I’m not that good, there’s got to be better, more talented hunters out there, who you don’t have to help, whose wounds you don’t have to patch up.”

Aro sighs. He holds Peter’s injured hand in his, and once again Peter feels that odd sensation he sometimes get when Aro touches his skin.

“I find you amusing.”

“You find me amusing.”

“Is that so odd? That is your job, is it not, being amusing?”

Peter is about to argue that there is a bit fucking more to his job than that, but that’s not the point. Not really.

“Broadly, yeah. Fine. But still. This is- Are you like this with all freelance people you hire?”

“I am not.”

Peter waits. Watches Aro’s face, which in the moonlight looks like marble. He wonders what it feels like. His hands aren’t hard or rock like. They are gentle. Cool. Almost soothing.

“I like you, Peter.”

“You like me.”

“I do.”

“Why? You don’t even know me. We’ve spent maybe five hours together all together, what is there- why?”

Aro narrows his eyes.

“I don’t?”

“How can you?”

Aro seems to hesitate for a moment, then nudges Peter further into the car, and sits down next to him in the back seat. It’s very dark in here, and other than the general shape of it, Peter can’t really read Aro’s face. Maybe that’s on purpose.

“I know that you hate vampires. That they killed your parents, your girlfriend, and that it has shaped much of your life. I know that you want to kill us to make sure that other people don’t experience what you did, despite how desperately afraid we make you. That you are not as selfish as you pretend to be. I know that you have tried to avoid caring for people because you are terrified that they, too, will be killed.”

Which is- some of this, of course, can be found online. Articles of a kid claiming vampires had killed his parents. Of course, his name was a bit different in those, but the last on is the same. It’s not too hard to work out, but-

“And I know that you like me too, and that it makes you feel awful. Which is a little hurtful, but understandable too. I know you’ve had dreams about me-”

Fuck. 

“And that you worry that this makes you a horrible person. I know that you despite your façade of wealthy and selfish star you want to do something meaningful with your life, and that the hunting is your attempt at that. That sometimes, very occasionally, you are grateful that your parents died, because you don’t know whether they would accept who you are today, and that it makes you feel terribly guilty. And I know that you think perhaps you can use my position to learn more of the vampire world, and possibly enough to kill me. And that you have given up on that. Which is good, because you would literally physically not be able to kill me. Also yes, I will give you the number of my tailor, but fair warning, they are located in Florence.”

What the fuck.

“What the fuck?”

Aro turns, and Peter thinks perhaps he smiles.

“Not only am I invulnerable, or at least functionally so, but I can read minds.”

“You can fucking what?”

This is, perhaps, the most scared Peter has ever been of Aro. Not for his life, but for his dignity. 

“Well, thoughts, really. But some memories, too. And you do think about vampires and their effect on your life in my presence. And about how wrong your life has gone, which just for the record I do not necessarily agree with.”

“You can hear everything I think all the time?” Peter asks in an embarrassingly panicked and high pitched voice.

“Well. I have to touch you to do so.”

Which. Ah. The weird sensation. That must be it, right? Maybe, so. So he can know. He can control his thoughts. Avoid touch. Be more covered up. That’s it. Keep safe. Did he say he knew Peter had sex dreams about him? God. He can never see or interact with Aro ever again. 

“Peter?” Aro asks, alerting Peter to the fact he has been silently panicking for a few minutes.

“Yes! Yes. What? Please don’t-”

“I am sensing I have made you uncomfortable.”

“You fucking think?”

“Only when I have to. What is bothering you?”

Peter looks at him incredulously.

“What do you mean? You fucking- You read my mind! That’s like- I literally cannot imagine a bigger invasion of privacy!”

Aro is silent for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Are you- what- Do you not see the problem with that?”

Aro shrugs.

“Not really. I needed to know whether you were trustworthy. Or, I suppose, someone who could be manipulated into trustworthiness.”

And okay. Ancient vampire. Probably a few hundred years old. Bound to have been raised with different morals or whatever, but Peter bets that even in what, the seventeenth century or something, mind reading would have been frowned upon.

“Why not. Why wouldn’t this happen. Fuck.”

“You do not seem to be handling this information well.”

“Don’t I?” Peter is getting just a little hysterical, he realises this, “You read my mind! What on Earth would make you think I would deal with this well?!”

“Ah. I suppose that is fair,” Aro admits. 

“Would you like for me to drive you back? You can attempt to get some sleep.”

Peter lets out a sob of pained laughter.

“Yeah. Yeah all right. Why the fuck not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make this slightly less angsty and less glacially slow than certain other versions of Aro/Peter I've written


	6. The Terror of Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter recuperates from his injury and learns some New and terrifying things

What, Peter continues to ask for the next several weeks, the fuck? He doesn’t have time, right away, to deal with everything that happened on this away mission. He managed, luckily, to sleep through the entire ten hour drive back, upon which Aro dropped him at the closest emergency room and left. Which, fair, the vampire had already done much more than he needed to, and from what Peter could see from the bag of cash waiting for him when he got home a few hours later, he hadn’t taken anything off Peter’s pay, either.

His wrist is a bit fucked, it turns out, but at least it’s his non dominant one, and if he gets the small cast customised by the costume lady to look cool and gothic, he should probably be able to do his show mostly unhindered. Which is good. Maybe some dramatic gloves or something. Still, though, he keeps forgetting until he accidentally moves it and the pain hits him again. And it makes playing video games terribly difficult, so he’s not a fan of the concept.

So it is not until the next afternoon, when he is a bit more rested and recovered, that he has the mental space to ask, again, what the fuck. What kind of absurd vampire is bullet proof? Is able to read people’s minds like fucking Professor X? And why doesn’t he understand that it’s not okay? But that is unfair, he acknowledged that it is, but simply said that he doesn’t care. Which, okay, vampire. Can’t expect the best of morals. But at least the personal outrage is carrying him for a while, letting him suppress the fact of exactly what Aro saw in his mind.

Thing is though, he didn’t seem bothered? He saw inside Peter’s head and claims still to like him? Which is an accomplishment Peter himself can only master if he gets very, very drunk. And he did say he knew Peter liked him back. But like is such a vague word. The first thing he said was that he finds Peter amusing, which is hardly the same thing at all. And from what he has seen, surely he must know the way in which Peter likes him? The attraction, however much he hates to call it that. But that’s what it is. Peter is horny for a vampire, but not only physically. Like emotionally horny. God. Disgusting.

Peter tries his hardest not to think about any of this, which he accomplishes largely by getting very drunk. Aro promised, helpfully, not to contact him about any hunting jobs until his hand was better, although he did not divulge exactly how he would know. What with his telepathy being touch based, you would think he wouldn’t be quite so omniscient, but he does seem to know far more than Peter would like him to about his whereabouts at any and all times. Although it is, of course, possible that Aro shows up to spook Peter frequently, only to find him gone, and having to try again later. Peter finds he hopes this is true. Maybe he should set up a surveillance camera and check. But no. Who knows whether he can be caught on film?

-

From: P_vincent@petervincent.com

To: Brewster_Charley1@gmail.com

Charley! Hey, how are things? Wanted to check in with you (and amy? You 2 still a thing ye? Hope so. If not, my condolences). Been doing any uuh. Spooky things? You know. Hunting of? I have. Which has been. Well. Gotten hurt a bit, but never super badly. Started doing jobs for this one guy who. Who might be One of Them,if you know what I’m saying (several wink emojis)n  
Anyway thought you should know. Just so, if I do die, someone knows what probably happened.

Actually I should probably not be encouraging kids to endager themseselves, so hey. Don’t. Not until you finish uni, anyway. Something like that. Even if you encouraged me to greatly endanger myself. But I guess kids are allowed to. Anyway. Stay safe. (both of you, if applicable)

Peter Vincent,  
Vampire Hunter Extraordinaire

Sent from my iPhone

-

From: Brewster_Charley1@gmail.com

To: P_Vincent@petervincent.com

Peter, you realise gmail won’t flag the word vampire? I mean, you must use it when talking about your show? You can use the word, I promise.

Yeah, we’re still together, still good. She says hi.  
  
That seems very dangerous! Why would a vampire want you to hunt other vampires? It seems suspicious. I’m glad you, like you said, also don’t want to be the kind of man you are (were?), but I didn’t mean you should just go out looking for danger? It was a one-time situation. Please try not to get yourself killed, Peter.

-

Peter isn’t quite sure what he was hoping to get out of contacting the teenager, but this wasn’t it. He is glad that they are still together so his horrible experiences nearly a year ago was not for naught, of course, but he doesn’t feel any better about his situation, despite what his ex-therapist promised him about talking to people. Fucking hack. Maybe he ought to have told him about his feelings about Aro too, if he wanted it to actually help, but that feels wrong. Besides the brief time Amy was a vampire, the kid seems to have a very firm anti vampire stance. Which, doesn’t Peter too?

He wonders whether Aro knows that Peter too was once a vampire. Admittedly only for about ten minutes, but still. While he didn’t get to the stage of craving blood or anything, the feeling of sunlight burning him still haunts him sometimes. He doesn’t like the many bite scars, either. They’re far too stark a reminder, even as they are settling into a pink slightly paler than his skin, rather than the angry red they were for a long while. They remind him of that feeling, trapped down in a dark cellar, a pile of vampires on top of him, sucking the blood from his veins. Maybe that’s the feeling he should focus on whenever his thoughts drift to Aro’s more positive sides. Only- Only with him the idea of fangs piercing his skin isn’t disgusting and terrifying, or at least not only those things. It makes him think of other parts of Aro that might… enter into other parts of Peter. Eugh.

Peter tries to rid himself of this stupid falling in lust he’s doing. He sleeps with a lot of people, and is only somewhat hindered by his injured arm. And it’s good. Of course it’s good. He knows that he’s reasonably attractive, and rich, and at least here in Vegas, pretty famous. Which makes it pretty easy to find people willing to have a good time with him, who are themselves lovely and attractive people who Peter only mildly dislikes on a personal level. Which is the thing, isn’t it, about all those nice things about him. That sometimes someone only wants to fuck him to say they have, or to get something out of it. And maybe that’s why it feels nice that Aro likes him, because there is absolutely nothing about Peter Aro cannot find a better version of somewhere else. So, by that logic, he must actually, inexplicably, like him for him. This is somewhat of a devastating revelation, when it comes, and does cause him to kick two otherwise very lovely ladies out of his bed at four in the morning in order to be properly angry at himself.

-

The day he gets his cast removed, some weeks later, he hears from Aro again. Or rather, he comes home to find the vampire in his flat. Which is odd, because it’s noon, presumably a time of day where most vampires would be hiding inside their coffins, or at the very least light proof underground rooms. He wonders if Aro sleeps in a coffin. He can imagine it, some fancy mahogany thing, all monumental and gothic, perhaps in a massive mausoleum at the centre of some expansive necropolis. Do they have those in England? Or did he imply he lives in Italy? Peter isn’t sure. The name Aro isn’t terribly helpful, either.

This time, he realises, he is merely surprised, rather than scared, to see Aro sitting there, apparently waiting for him. Which is both a relief, and also deeply worrying. He shouldn’t be getting used to seeing a monster having appeared in his home. It should horrify him. It doesn’t.

“Peter, good afternoon.”

“Hey. Back to breaking and entering, then?”

“No breaking still, Peter, I promise. Only entering.”

“Doesn’t make it less illegal.”

“Given how long I have been legally dead I don’t think I can commit a crime.”

Peter frowns.

“Not sure that’s how it works. You can do crime even if you’re not legally a person. Either way. What sort of hunting project have you got for me literally forty five minutes after I am allowed to use my hand again?”

“That is true. I can, indeed, do what I want. But there are, in fact, no pressing matters. I merely wished to see how you are recovering.”

Huh.

“Huh.”

Peter goes to the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Want something?” he asks, out of habit, before remembering who he’s talking to.

“Do you have any blood?”

Aro sounds amused. Of course he does.

“Only inside my body, and it’s not on offer.”

“Then no thank you.”

Peter purposely sits a good two metres away from Aro, just to be sure not to be within touching distance. Aro, it seems, notices this.

“I won’t read your thoughts,” he promises.

“Seems like something someone planning to read my mind would say,” Peter counters, crossing his arms.

“Very well, I shall keep my distance, if that makes you feel more safe.”

“Don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s hard to feel safe when a vampire keeps mysteriously appearing in my living room, threatening to kill me unless I risk my life on a vampire hunt.”

Aro frowns, and looks away for a moment.

“I have- I do not want you to fear me, Peter. Not anymore.”

Peter raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, fine, I realise that I have, repeatedly, put you in significant danger. But I have never hurt you personally.”

Peter wobbles his head back and forth a bit, to indicate that that is in fact debateable.

“Scared the shit out of me. Was afraid to be alone in my own home for weeks. To go to sleep, in case when I woke up a terrifying creature of the night was standing over me, ready to murder me.”

“I admit that yes, perhaps approaching you in the way that I did was not the most sympathetic way to go about it. But do you not think that this reaction is, at least in part, based on your previous vampire related trauma, rather than all my fault?”

“Eeeh.”

Peter swallows down his drink. It’s sugary and strong and slightly unbearable and also perfect. He gestures with his glass at Aro as he speaks.

“Fine, I- yeah. You haven’t actually hurt me, all right? I- Slightly more Jerry’s fault, I admit that much. But it’s still… Still weird. I’m not used to vampires being… you know..”

“People?” Aro suggests.

“Yeah,” Peter admits, and is upset to find he feels guilty about it.

“I am sorry to break it to you, Peter, but we all are. To have malice, one must be a person. If an animal attacks you, it is not out of a personal wish to harm you. Even werewolves, those who in their animalistic forms lose control, that is simply instinct. To be evil one must have the option not to be.”

“Are you telling me,” Peter asks, “that werewolves are fucking real?”

“Yes? Were you not aware?”

Aro sounds mildly surprised, which is an odd way to be when revealing something as monumental as the existence of people who can turn into wolves, as if that was just another thing.

“No I was fucking not!”

“But you know about vampires.”

“Yeah, well, not the same thing, are you? Just because one supernatural thing turns out to be real doesn’t mean all of them are! Christ! What else is there? Are ghosts real? Aliens? Zombies? The Loch Ness monster?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Aro replies, “but although I have been alive a long time, there is much I have not seen, many parts of the world in which I have not spent much time. There may very well exist many things outside what you accept as normal that are simply very good at keeping their existence a secret.”

“Fuck,” Peter says, because that is the only way he can really express how absolutely overwhelmed he is.

He squints at Aro for a moment.

“So are vampires and werewolves enemies? You always are, in books and things. Except, I guess, Dracula, who can turn into a wolf. Which I guess means he’s an honorary werewolf?”

“Vlad Dracul was not, in fact, a vampire. Nor a werewolf. Simply a cruel human man.”

“I- okay. Guess you would know. But are you?”

“There are many species of vampire, as you are aware, but also of werewolves. Some are friendly with some vampires, but not others. I was once very close to a werewolf, though I fear he has passed, now. They are as varied as vampires are. There are no such strict, species based alliances.”

“That’s- shit. This is a lot. I wasn’t- didn’t think there was… But how do they keep it secret, turning into a wolf once a month? Seems the kind of shit someone would notice, doesn’t it.”

“I know of several species of werewolf who are not controlled by the moon. Some do it at will. Usually, of course, those are the ones who also keeps their minds, keep control of themselves when they turn.”

And this is, well. It’s a lot, isn’t it? A whole new genre of monster- well. Be fair. Whole new genre of creature, who somehow have stopped being a scary story, and is now something Peter has to accept as part of reality. Unless Aro is fucking with him. But why would he be? It really is terribly unfair that only one of them can read minds.

So Peter can’t- he can’t just avoid Aro, even if he managed to convince himself he wanted to, because think of all he can learn from this vampire? About history, sure, however much he’s been there for, but of the world of the supernatural? And he does want to, he finds, even if there turn out to be new and scarier things lurking out there, new fears to develop. Because if he learns about them, he can defend himself. Learn their weaknesses. Be ready.

“Tell me more?”


	7. Secrets of the Volturi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, one of the volturi, at least.

"So. Any other supernatural beings, other than werewolves and vampires, real?"

"Well. There are other shapeshifters, I believe. Who can turn into, well, other animals. Usually still only one kind, though. And mostly mammals. But largely these are ones I have heard of, not seen or met, personally, even as long I've been alive."

Peter watches Aro for a moment, hesitating.

"You keep saying that but, uh. Dunno if this is rude, but.. How old are you, exactly?"

"I was born in what you would think of as the year 1340."

Wait. What?

"13- Oh fuck! Oh wow. You're- you're almost," he does some not-as-quick-as-it-could-be mental math, "you're almost seven hundred years old?!"

Aro frowns.

"Ah, I miss spoke. The year 1340 B.C."

"The- B.C.?!"

But that would mean- he does some decidedly slow mental math, that would mean he is more than three thousand years old. That is-

"Holy shitting fuck," Peter says.

"Oh my god," he adds.

"You're so old," he concludes.

Aro raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused.

"You should be in a museum," Peter tells him, still deeply overwhelmed.

"Oh yes?"

"And what do they keep in museums? Mostly dead things. Hah. Undead too. No. Sorry," Peter is aware he is fully rambling now but he doesn't seem quite able to stop, "but. Just the historical value. I mean. Not an academic myself, obviously, uni drop out, but I do correspond with a lot of scholars and- three and a half millennia of knowledge, fuck. The things you could teach people- have you sat down and written down everything you know? What was- what was everything like back then?"

He looks almost quite charmed, a smile almost straying from amused into something more genuine.

"I imagine, seeing as vampires do not forget, that writing down everything I know might take a few centuries, by which time there would be more.

"You don't? Nothing?"

Aro shakes his head no.

"We do not. Well, our human lives grow rather dim and nebulous by contrast, I fear. I remember less of that than I might wish. But as for our lives after the change we have neither the blessing nor the tragedy of forgetting."

"Oh. That seems- I mean. Kind of rough? There's a lot of shit I've done and said and had done and said to me that I'm very grateful not to remember. Doesn't that mean you're kind of forever haunted by your mistakes?"

"You are implying I make mistakes?" Aro demands, voice suddenly cold and hard.

Peter stammers out an apology, and the vampire glares with dark red eyes for a moment before laughing.

"Do not worry. Just a joke. I have managed, in 3351 years, to make mistakes, believe it or not.”

Peter squints at him with suspicion for a moment. The vampire has not perfected a joking tone. Perhaps some things take at least four millennia.

“I mean, I’ve made almost exclusively made mistakes, and I’ve been alive what, for like one percent of your life or something so I’d hope so.”

“That seems a little pessimistic of you. You seem reasonably adept at hunting vampires, for a human. A little inexperienced still, but I think you can excel at it. Particularly if you got over that pesky human getting injured thing. That seems impractical.”

Peter laughs, and shifts around in his chair for a moment before getting up and heading to the bar to refill his glass. He thinks he almost catches Aro’s eyes following him.

“’Fraid that’s going to be a bit challenging. Comes with the territory of being human.”

“Ah, yes. I vaguely remember the concept. I do not miss it.”

“Being human?”

“Getting hurt.”

“Shit, that’s what you said. You really don’t get hurt? Like not at all?”

Aro is silent for a moment, seeming to think it over.

“I can be emotionally hurt?” he offers, and Peter laughs again at this weird ridiculous creature of the night sitting in his living room and telling him his secrets.

“I jest. Or, well, it is not incorrect, but you know. Other vampires of my own kind can harm me. And certain species of werewolves. And, I believe I heard of one of my kind who was caught in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79, who did, I believe, perish.”

“So like the One Ring.”

“Which ring?”

“You’ve been alive for three and a half thousand years and you’ve never read Lord of the Rings?”

“I am not particularly interested in jewellery.” 

Peter cannot for the life of him tell whether the vampire is joking. 

“So. If I want to kill you I basically have to take you to Yellowstone. Drop you in a super volcano.”

“I suppose,” the vampire agrees, “but you would be unable to force me, or push me in. Or trick me, now you’ve suggested it.”

“Ehh. Hire a werewolf hitman. Or hitlady. Hitperson.”

“Perhaps I had better make a point of reading your mind more often, if these are the things you have planned.”

“Nah. Figure I’m better off on your side, probably. Got to befriend the scariest monster so the other ones won’t attack me.”

Aro’s smile is indulgent and almost soft. He doesn’t look like a monster at all. He very rarely does. Which, all right, that probably makes sense evolutionary speaking, if vampires evolved, much easier to get close to your prey if you don’t look like something that will kill you. And sure, he looks very vampiric, with the dark red eyes (darker than usual? Can’t be the lighting because it is early afternoon still, and though the blackout curtains are drawn in this room, the ambient light spills in from adjacent ones, and all the lights are on. Do they change?), the perfect and slightly theatrical black suits, not quite in any familiar style. But there is something familiar, almost, about the classic vampire. Not really scary in the same way that Bela Lugosi’s Dracula could never truly be scary, too recognisable, too comforting, almost. Well, at least to Peter, whose comfort movie may or may not be the 1931 Dracula. He is aware of the irony.

“Yes, I agree. It may sound somewhat- well, anyway. My species of vampire, as far as I can tell, is the most powerful and difficult to harm. So it is, I think, a good choice. And I truly mean that I think you can get very good at hunting. Especially with my help. Not for the hunting, but as a source of knowledge.”

Peter nods.

“Yeah. By the way. Werewolves, other vampires like you, volcanoes. What about the sun?”

“I imagine that were I somehow to be in a spacecraft crashing into the sun, I too would die.”

“Yeah, yeah sure, but like. Here. Sun now. I do notice that you are, well, here. Now. At one in the afternoon. And it’s pretty sunny outside.”

Aro, fascinatingly, looks somewhat uncomfortable.

“It does… have an effect on us. Which is not physically harmful, but it is certainly not particularly… practical, in modern society.”

Which is not the kind of thing you can say without being forced to explain yourself and, ideally, give a little show and tell. 

“Yeah?” he prods.

“As we… change, the composition of our bodies changes also, which leads to our skin reacting… oddly to sunlight.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t say something like that and not tell me. Or, better, show me. Window’s right there.”

Aro looks even more uncomfortable, and for once Peter feels like he somehow has the advantage. At least emotionally. It’s a welcome change.

“I don’t know that that is something you need to know.”

“What, does you skin go translucent so I can see your skull? Or, whatever, your muscular structure or something? Does your skull go translucent too? Can I see your brain?”

“What? No, nothing like that.”

“Do you just go like super sun burnt and gross?”

“No.”

“Well, until you show me, I’m going to assume it’s the least flattering version possible.”

There is a long pause, as Aro glares at him, presumably debating whether having Peter think him ridiculous in some meaningless way is worse than revealing his secrets. It turns out, yes, apparently, because he growls, and rises.

“Fine.”

Peter grins, and follows him to the window, throwing the curtains open. Which is somewhat anti climactic, because in the ambient light of the sun Aro just looks well lit.

“You- is there something I’m not seeing?”

“Oh. No, we need. Is there a room that gets direct sunlight now? Indirect sunlight has no effect.”

“Huh. Convenient. That the same for vampires who burn in the light?” Peter asks, trying to remember what direction the sun goes, and concluding that his bedroom is probably the best bet, heading there and trusting Aro to follow.

“I think it depends. The light of the moon, of course, is merely the reflected light of the sun, and that harms no one. Except, perhaps, the victims of werewolves. Some can be in the shadow outside in daylight. Some can stand the light for a little while, before starting to slowly burn, whilst others almost spontaneously combust as soon as they get barely above ground.”

“Hmm. Makes sense, I guess.”

Peter, as he enters his bedroom, becomes very aware that once more he has failed to tidy up the pile of sex toys next to his bed. Admittedly Aro would likely not have too hard a time learning of that, what with both the (non) breaking and entering and mind reading. He still feels his face flush with embarrassment, though. Aro, thankfully, makes no comment, other than to step carefully around the mess.

Peter fiddles with the mechanism, atrophied and sticky dusty with disuse, and then manages to roll the curtain up with an unpleasant squeaky sound, and the light streams in. He squints at the brightness, eyes actually watering, before stepping to the side, turning to face Aro, who-

“Oh, what?”

Aro is glowing. Or sparkling. Or both? Like he’s taken a dive into a vat of slightly radioactive body glitter. It’s absolutely fucking wild. All his skin, so incredibly pale in the light, like instead of skin cells he’s got glitter and sequins. He would kill at Pride.

“What the fuck, Aro?”

Aro looks, again, uncomfortable, while still glowing, and it’s so incredibly weird. His eyes, which do not appear to sparkle, looks strangely matte in comparison. The light brightening up the red, though, that looks- it looks good. The sparkling looks beautiful too, but in the way a diamond is beautiful. Almost abstractly. Just play of light. Which, of course, arguably all things visible is just a play of light, but it’s- yeah. It’s fucking weird.

“It is, we theorise, a way to attract prey.”

He sounds the expected amount of defensive. Which, well, Peter can’t blame him, because this is fucking ridiculous. 

“And does that- is that working well for you?”

“I don’t know, Peter, am I attracting you?”

Peter shrugs, and manages through sheer willpower to suppress another blush.

“Mostly with morbid curiosity. The fuck’s your skin made of that it looks like this?”

“It is… crystalline in nature.”

“Why?”

Aro sighs.

“I don’t know, Peter, it is not as if I became this on purpose. Or knew what was happening. Or how on Earth we, I don’t know, evolved.”

“Yeah. Can I…?”

Peter gets closer, reaches a hand out.

“You may.”

He touches a finger to Aro’s glowing skin, seeing where the shadow from his hand touches, how his skin goes back to normal. It doesn’t feel like crystal, but it also does not feel quite like skin. He’s paying more attention to it, now, and it feels very dry, but not like dry skin is dry. Dry like stone, smooth and matte and almost powdery. But it is soft, it has give, and suddenly Peter realises he is softly stroking Aro’s cheek, realises that those red eyes are on his, and they look almost hungry. He pulls his hand back quickly, apologising, and stepping back. Turns to close the curtains again. Hears Aro’s footsteps retreat. Good, they both agree that was awkward, then. But at least he didn’t feel that strange sensation that he thinks indicates that the vampire is reading his mind. It is, of course, still, a horrible invasion of privacy, but Peter wonder whether he, had he that power, would be able to make himself not use it. He can see the temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aro doesn't feel hard and stauelike to the touch because I don't want him to. Much the same reasoning as his having fangs. Any good vampire ought to have fangs. Am absolutely selectively ignoring some of Smeyer's lore because, you know.


	8. Heat of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter follows through on two of the three vampire related story tags

Peter’s heart is beating fast as he pulls back, the stake coming loose easily as the vampire into which he had plunged it dissolves into ash. He takes a breath, steps back, and is about to reach for his crossbow, to get some range, when a deafening bang sounds, and he is violently thrown into the wall. There is a worrying cracking noise, and a sharp pain in the back of his thigh, but he thinks, hopes, that one of the stakes attached to his belt just broke. The thing, it turns out, pressing him into the wall, is Aro. At his shoulder, Peter can see a small rift in his suit, indicating that he has, once again, saved Peter from some sort of projectile.

“Are you hurt?” Aro asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Peter hesitates, then shakes his head. The vampire is pressing into him, his hands on Peter’s shoulders, their faces only inches apart. Those dark red eyes look into Peter’s browns ones, then flick briefly down. To his mouth. On accidental instinct, Peter licks his lips, and see Aro’s gaze dart downwards, following the motion. Almost without meaning to, Peter closes the distance between them, lips pressing to Aro’s, soft and light. He realises, suddenly, what he is doing, where they are, and flinches back, but Aro chases him, captures his lips, deepens the kiss. His lips are softer than Peter would have expected, and colder, but still Peter feels heat inside in, travelling lower. He feels Aro’s fangs against his tongue, and oh- Oh, he likes that. This is worrying, but also a problem for future Peter, because present Peter is too busy threading his hands into the vampire’s hair, pressing against him, until-

There is another shot, and Aro barely stutters in his movement as it pings uselessly off him. Still, it is a reminder they had better get back to the business at hand. Aro pulls back, and their eyes meet for a brief moment, before Aro turns, moving in a blur towards their attacker.

They are in a vampire lair, together. Aro has decided that he wants to invest in Peter’s improvement as a hunter, and so has come with him on this particular hunt to help, and to make sure he stays safe. Peter found these vampires. They aren’t politically important ones, but they have been taking homeless people off the street and drinking them, and so Peter feels justified in staking them, and Aro simply does not care. Peter shoves himself away from the rough concrete wall, and indeed a broken stake clatters to the floor behind him. At the end of the long, low room, Peter can see Aro rip the vampire’s head from it’s shoulders, which does appear to be his preferred method of execution. The creature collapses into dust. Peter doesn’t remember whether there are more.

“That was the last one,” Aro says, loud enough for his voice to carry to where Peter is standing, feeling lost, and weird, and embarrassed. 

He nods, and begins to pick up the various stakes he has dropped, brushing vampire ash from his black hoodie (this one not with his own face on it). Aro’s footsteps are getting closer, and Peter has a terrible fear that they will talk. They can’t talk. He won’t.

Kissing Aro was… It was accidental. A bad choice. Completely wrong, however much it felt, well. Pretty incredible. Felt right. Felt like something he quite badly wants to keep doing. But Aro is a vampire, and Aro has threatened to kill him if he doesn’t do as he tells him, and Aro eats people. Peter can’t quite help himself liking Aro, or finding him attractive, but he can’t very well be in a bloody relationship with him. Bad vampire pun intended.

“Are you-” Aro begins, but Peter interrupts him.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

-  
Peter gets himself a very large iced coffee on the way home, and pours a couple of shots of vodka in it. Aro had, quite generously, understood that Peter doesn’t want to talk, and so didn’t try to. Perhaps it is not so hard to be considerate when you can read minds, can know someone so well within such a short span of time that you can predict their reactions. Or maybe he regrets it too, feels it was too much of an imposition. He had kissed Peter back, though. Hadn’t he? But as he’s pointed out, he can make mistakes too.

He sprawls out on his sofa, resting the oversized to go cup on his chest, watching something distractingly dumb on the screen taking up half the wall. He kind of wants to stop being conscious, but a four espresso shot coffee drink was probably not the best facilitator of that. He is edging towards drunk, but everything is still very fast and sharp, and against his wishes the kiss keeps replaying in his mind. The unexpected softness of Aro’s lips, the faint metallic bloody taste of him, the ever present threat of his fangs. It’s not something he should want, but fuck, he really does. 

_**Reasons not to be into Aro:**_ Peter types into his phone.

_1: Vampire. Bad. Evil. Eats people.  
2: Age gap is crazy. Dude is 3315 years older than me. Creepy as shit.  
3: He’s sort of my employer? Bad idea.  
4: Important vampire politician/noble/something. Probably would make me a very easily killed target.  
5: What if he falls in love with me and wants to bite me so I won’t die on him? Unacceptable.  
6: 3351 years old. Probably holds some old fashioned views? Might be transphobic? Although. Has read my mind and not mentioned it. Need to get clarification.  
7: Can’t go on daytime dates because dude turns into a fucking disco ball.   
8: Would probably make fun of my show. Mean.  
9: Looks like he’d be high maintenance. Not great having two high maintenance people together.  
10: Might change his mind and eat me.  
11: Has better hair than me. Unfair.  
12: Mind reader._

It appears he might be running out of reasons, but look. Loads of good reasons to avoid this unfortunately attractive undead guy. Bunch of reasons to keep this relationship entirely professional. But, his brain argues, that kiss. But his stupid pretty face. But the incredible seduction of the lingering danger, the feeling of being desired by someone so much more powerful. Fuck. It’s not working, because his stupid brain only wants to focus on the good things. On how stupid hot this, at best, room temperature undead being is. The idea of his face between Peter’s legs- shit. He wants that upsettingly bad. 

His phone vibrates, and he swipes it open.

From: Brewster_Charley1@gmail.com  
To: P_Vinctent@petervincent.com 

Hey, Peter, I wanted to check in. Are you still, you know, alive and stuff? Haven’t heard from you since that first mail you sent over a month ago. How is the hunting going? Still safe from creepy undead employer? I don’t think, by the way, that it’s a particularly good idea, so if you can get out of that situation, you probably should. Stake them if you can? Anyway, hope you’re good.

-Charley

Which is- stake Aro? No. Hard no. The immediacy and conviction of his reaction shouldn’t, by this point, be a surprise, but somehow it still is. Despite the- the everything of the situation, he couldn’t. Admittedly he of course literally physically could not do that, because the stupid fucker’s invulnerable and stake-proof, but he also recoils at the very idea of killing him. No. He’s too much of a person, now, and Peter can’t kill a person. An undead blood drinking person, yes, but a person nevertheless. One who seems to care for Peter enough to not want him to get hurt, who, if for entirely selfish reasons, wants him to be better at what he does. At least the vampire hunting part of it. No, Peter can’t hurt Aro, and he wouldn’t want to even if he could. Closest he would get to staking him would be pegging him, which, hmm. Thanks, brain.

Peter groans, and forces himself to get up. Paces around the room, as if that will help him make up his mind. Or, rather, his mind is made up, but he’s not happy about it at all. He can’t get involved with Aro because it is, for a multitude of reasons, an absolutely terrible idea, but he sort of does desperately want to. Is it a romantic thing? He isn’t sure yet, but it’s definitely an attraction thing, and he does like Aro as a person. Inexplicably. Despite everything. 

It’s wrong. It’s objectively wrong to like a vampire, because vampires are the thing that Peter has spent every waking second (and a lot of the sleeping ones too) since he was nine years old hating and fearing. Vampires have caused him so much pain, so much grief and loss, but- but almost all of it has just been the one vampire. Just Jerry, really. Is that the fault of every vampire in existence? If he’s being fair, probably not. Is it even a vampire’s fault that they are a vampire? No. They’re mostly victims who happened to survive. But they do kill humans to survive, and that’s not okay. 

Now, arguably, Peter has only personally seen Aro drink blood that has been donated. Not, granted, with vampires in mind, but still. You don’t get to decide who benefits from your donations. Probably, though, he still feeds on people. Probably mostly does. Or who knows. Should he ask? No. No, because if he asks, then he will know. And if he doesn’t, then he can pretend. He can choose to believe that Aro doesn’t kill. And what is the point of that? If he has decided to not pursue, or let himself be pursued by, Aro, then why does he need to pretend Aro is less of a monster than he is? Because he likes him anyway? Because he is a useful ally? Because he wants to feel less bad about liking him?

What he needs, Peter decides, as he often does, is to be more drunk. So much so he can’t feel guilty. Or much of anything else. Maybe what he needs to do is go out. Talk to people. Maybe go home with some stupidly attractive stranger. He’s not got a show before tomorrow night, so that’s a plan. Sure, it’s already one in the morning, but the bars are still open. Yes. Yep. Good plan.

He spends a normal amount of time in the bathroom refreshing his eyeliner, messing his hair up just right. Debating which shade of black will make him look the most irresistible. Not thinking for a second about whether certain vampires would appreciate his efforts. Nope. Not at all. Maybe he’ll look for some hot goths. Some of them tend to be very into him, whilst others think he’s a joke. Which, while mortifyingly insulting, is probably fair. But yeah, if he picks the right bar, he can probably find a hot goth person of some sort to get down with. Yeah. Good plan. That’s what he’s going to do. Displace the unfounded stupid and inconvenient lust for Aro with a generic goth. That’ll work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: It won't


	9. Damn This Vampire In Particular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a good time, for once, but he's not going to be happy about it

“Why do you breathe?”

“I’m sorry?” Aro asks.

“Breathe. Do you need to? I can see your chest moving.”

“I do not need to, but my species of vampire has a very strong sense of smell, and to utilise that we need to breathe. So not doing so is like shutting off one of my senses.”

“Oh.”

That makes a sort of sense, Peter supposes. Like not wanting to wear a blindfold perpetually for no reason.

“It’s not because it tricks humans into thinking you’re alive?”

“Perhaps a little of that too, but do you really check whether every person you see is breathing? In a close relationship I suppose it would make sense, but in that case a person would notice our cold skin, the fact that we do not have a heartbeat. The fangs.”

“Yeah, those do look a little suspicious. But I mean, it’s not like you lot can go round pretending to be human anyway, is it? I mean, you sparkle in the sunlight.”

“There are those who in fact do. I have never understood it, myself. The need to blend in with… With you. Perhaps it makes more sense for newer vampires, ones who have not yet quite come to terms with their new life. There is, I believe, a small group of them living in the very North of this country, where it is rarely sunny. Who pretend to be human. Have human jobs, or go to human schools, despite the fact the youngest of them is nearly a century old.”

“What? That’s wild.”

“Indeed. I do not understand them.”

“Yeah. You would be too important for human affairs. Beneath you, all of us.”

“Only a little,” Aro replies, with a little smile that shows off sharp fangs and seems just the tiniest bit unhinged. 

But then, anyone would be after being alive for several millennia. Which is still so wild. So incomprehensibly long, that Peter can’t exactly blame Aro for being a bit off. He thinks he would probably go off the deep end before the first century. 

“Am I?”

“What do you want me to say? Your life is so terribly brief compared to mine. A mayfly. A brief glint of life that will be extinguished in a heartbeat. Particularly you.”

“Why?”

Aro raises his eyebrows, as if this should be obvious. 

“You’re hardly good at self-preservation, Peter. You put all sorts of things into your body, you don’t take care of yourself and you go out of your way to fight vampires. You are going to die young. You know this.”

Which is fair, if a little harsh. And it’s true. He has always expected that to be the case. Always expected Jerry to come back for him, and look, he was right, wasn’t he? Jerry did come back, did attack him again. Only now Jerry’s dead, and there isn’t any danger lurking for Peter specifically, and so there isn’t really a reason for him to assume that any more. But more than twenty-five years of habits and thought patterns are hard to break. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “yeah, fair. S’pose I will. Still, at least I won’t get old and wrinkly and gross.”

“There are other ways to achieve that, you know. Just say the word.”

Peter makes a face at Aro. It’s clearly a joke, clearly poking fun at Peter, but the thought that it might be a genuine offer- No. 

“And be a murderer? No thanks.”

“You already are.”

Which is a chilling statement. But technically, he supposes, it’s true. If you count vampires as people, which, being one, Aro presumably does.

“Don’t count if they’re already dead,” he argues.

“They are as alive as I am, Peter. And yes, many of them do kill humans. And you kill them. Only they do so to feed. Does that make you better than them? That you kill not out of an inherent need, but rather some idea of morality?”

Peter squirms. He has been having thoughts about this lately, which he doesn’t enjoy. Thoughts about how Aro is definitely a person to him. An important person, or at least he is beginning to be. Someone who seems genuinely interested in him, for whatever reason, someone who, to whatever degree their cold, dead heart can, cares. And if he is, then it stands to reason other vampires are too. As long as they’re not, whatever, controlled by someone else, like Jerry, then they are just people, who decide that their own right to live is more important than somebody else’s. And does Peter think that?

“Yeah. Still. I don’t have to kill people to stay alive.”

“Neither do I. I do not have to kill a human in order to feed from them, I do not need to take all their blood. Frankly a whole person full is far too much for a single meal, anyway.”

“But you do have to drink human blood?”

Aro hesitates for just a second or two before nodding. Which, what’s that about? But then, who the fuck would choose to drink people if they didn’t have to? No, that’s some weird serial killer cannibal shit. 

“Do you have a soul?”

“I don’t know. I suppose that depends on how you define the term. And whether you believe in it. Do you?”

“I don’t- Hmm. All right, good point. It’s just a thing, isn’t it, in a lot of vampire centric media. That you lose your soul, that thing that makes you human, makes you good.”  
“But there are many humans who are also not good. Have they no souls either? And besides, that would imply we have no choice but to be evil, and as such cannot be.”

Peter makes a face at him.

“You make it frustratingly hard to judge you.”

Aro smiles pleasantly, as if to communicate that this is exactly what he is trying to do. 

“One thing you come to accept, I find around the second century or so, is that life is terribly complicated, and reality rarely is kind enough to arrange people into neat little categories from which they do not stray. Not all vampires are evil, and not all humans are good.”

“And you’re a good vampire, are you?”

“No,” Aro says, quite bluntly, “I am not. But neither would I deem myself evil. I, too, am complicated.”

“And me?”

“I think, at least, that your intentions are good. But you do not get to be only that. You take the life of feeling, intelligent beings, too. I am not sure that is a thing that is good, however much damage those beings may cause.”

“But- but you’ve told me to! Several times!”

“Yes,” agrees Aro placidly, “because it is convenient for me to have them gone, and because doing so agrees with your particular view on morality.”

“But- Fuck! Fuck you, Aro.”

“If you’d like.”

The vampire is, Peter finds, endlessly frustrating. Treating everything as if it’s some joke, as if none of this matters. Like the point of this is to infuriate Peter. But maybe it is. Maybe the vampire has had these discussions endlessly before, and has long since made up his mind. Maybe to Aro this is like explaining right and wrong to a fucking toddler. Whatever the reasoning, it makes Peter feeling like shit. Some mixture of shame and frustration that settles in every crack.

Peter looks down, away. Focuses internally, and then, without a warning, noiselessly, Aro’s hand is on his. He flinches back.

“I’m not going to read your mind, Peter.”

Which isn’t really what the issue is, but his assuming wrong is somehow reassuring.

“How do you expect me to trust that?”

Aro, who is now in the chair next to him, watches him for a moment with bright red eyes. Unfortunately pretty eyes. Eyes that have seen so much, and still choose to focus on Peter.

“You can feel it. When I do. And when I don’t- don’t try to, I get nothing. Well, almost nothing. When you’re chanting in your head like this, projecting so loudly, it is difficult not to hear.”

Peter freezes, panicked.

“Uh. Like what?”

“You’re telling yourself very loudly not to think about the dreams you’ve had that, ah, feature me. Interspersed with some quite lovely imagery.”

Peter groans, pulling his hood down over his face. He hates this stupid vampire, hates his stupid brain which insists on lusting after this stupid sparkly corpse.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of, Peter,” Aro tells him, absurdly.

“No?”

Peter does not remove the hood.

“We are- vampires, or at least my kind of vampire, we become, when we change, supernaturally attractive.”

Peter snorts.

“You laugh, but it is true. We have to be, to attract prey. It is how we work.”

“So you were less pretty, then? Back in the bronze age?”

“Me? No, I was always this irresistible. The vampirism just made me more powerful.”

“Oh, yeah, course. Hottest person in- where are you from, really? What places even existed back then?”

“It was a small town, terribly insignificant, really, near Mycenae.”

“Where?”

“It is what you today call Greece. There remain only ruins today.”

“You’re- Greek?”

“Again, Greece did not exist as a country then. But more or less, I suppose.”

“Then why do you sound English?”

Aro shrugs, leaning back in his chair a little, letting go, at last, of Peter’s hand. To his frustration Peter finds he misses the cool touch.

“I speak many languages, and with enough time one learns to sound like a native. It has been efficient, I have found, in making people respect one, not sounding like a foreigner, however unfortunate that is.”

Which Peter can’t really argue with. He moves, curling his legs up under him, tying his body into a knot. Defensive move, probably. Defending against what? Against that stupid instinct telling him to get closer to Aro? That incredibly foolish part of his brain that wants to feel this monster’s strange, cold skin against his own? Which can’t help being endlessly fascinated by this ancient creature who keeps showing up? Keeps appearing, without notice, with excuses to see him that grow progressively flimsier? Today it was that he felt Peter had more to learn about vampires. Which is, of course, true, but the only vampire he’s really learned much about is the one sitting next to him.

“What is the matter?” Aro asks quietly, which means Peter has been silent for a while. 

At least the vampire doesn’t try to steal the information from out of his head. That’s something. 

“I don’t know. You, I think. Or me. Or everything.”

“Ah. That seems a lot.”

“It is.”

It is weird, sitting in an at least not directly uncomfortable silence with a vampire. It is dark outside, the night late, the moon bright and almost full, shining in through the window. Peter glances over at Aro, though the corner of his eye, and the vampire is watching him. Not hungrily, not with judgement, but simply looking. Peter looks down, away. Suddenly awkward, suddenly having Thoughts that he ought not to be having. And Aro can tell, Peter knows. He doesn’t say anything, but the bastard knows. He always does. Peter is too sober for this.

-

“Thing is- Thing is I can’t,” Peter insists.

It is several hours and more drinks later. The table in front of him is filled with sticky empty glasses (new glass for new drink, because he keeps accidentally making Aro drinks too, but then, naturally, he himself has to drink them), and everything is spinning pleasantly. His thoughts are distinctly hazy, and walking feels suspiciously much like floating. Aro, very tolerantly, is still here, still listening to Peter rant. About vampires, about the unfairness of people being mean to him on twitter, about everything.   
“You can’t what?”

“Can’t like you,” Peter concludes, unwisely.

“No? You seem to do so anyway?”

“Yeah, but- but I can’t. Shouldn’t. ‘Cos you’re…” he stares, eyes unfocused, at the ceiling.

“What’s the word? Bad. You’re bad. Evil. Evil human eating vampire.”

Aro sighs.

“We have been over this. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah, but-“ Peter has a good counterpoint, if only he can think of it.

He gestures grandly with his glass from which sticky sweet liquor splashes onto himself and the table in front of him, in lieu of actually making any point.

“You’re old,” he adds, unable to think of whatever he was going to say, “you’re like. Super old.”

“True. But we are both adults perfectly capable of consent, and if you think about it, I have only, by your own definition, been alive for forty years. And four years is not that terrible of an age gap, is it?”

“Huh,” Peter says.

It is a lot more difficult, in his significantly inebriated state, to think of arguments against leaning over the edge of his chair and kissing Aro. It was a very nice experience doing so last time, he seems to remember. And Aro is terribly attractive, and inexplicably still here. He leans back against his chair, watching Aro, waiting for the two of him he can see to settle into one. Red eyes watch patiently back, and it’s something, isn’t it? His not taking advantage. Not making Peter do anything he doesn’t want to.

It is another five minutes before Peter’s sensible side loses, before he gives in to the impulse, setting his glass unsteadily down and leaning over the side of the chair, his hand reaching out towards Aro’s face.

“You are going to regret this, you know,” Aro points out.

“I know. Don’t care.”

And, clearly, neither does Aro, because he closes the distance between them. His lips are cool and too smooth and still unexpectedly soft. Seemingly without any effort at all, he lifts Peter up, placing him in his lap. Peter, dazed and dizzy, does not mind. He winds his fingers into Aro’s hair, tugging too hard, or at least too hard for someone who can feel pain. Licks into Aro’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the sharp points of fangs, and oh- yes. He is definitely into that. He grinds down against Aro’s lap, and it is not long before he can feel that the vampire, too, is enjoying this. Aro kisses Peter’s cheek, his jaw, down along his neck, fangs tugging at soft vulnerable skin, and it should be terrifying, but all he can think is how fucking hot it is.

Peter grinds down against Aro’s cock through far too many layers of clothes, unable to get the friction he needs. He whines, pressing himself against Aro, capturing his mouth again in a clumsy kiss.

“Want you,” he murmurs.

“Understandable,” Aro tells him, a soft joke, and very true.

Peter finds the top button of Aro’s dress shirt, and spends an inordinate amount of time trying to pry it open, to Aro’s amusement. Finally, he gets the hang of it, and opens two more before Aro captures his hand. Peter makes a questioning noise, and lays the other over the small triangle of exposed skin, feeling the complete lack of a heartbeat. 

“You don’t want to do this,” Aro says.

“Mm, pretty sure I do,” Peter argues, leaning down to press a kiss to his chest, just under where his collarbones meet.

“Well, now, yes. Not later.”

“Fuck later.”

“Yes, I agree, we should wait.”

Peter groans, and shakes his head, and Aro takes his other wrist in his free hand.

“Sober you is going to be very angry at me,” Aro points out.

“Sober me is very stupid.”

“I do not disagree. But I don’t want you to be angry with me for taking advantage of you.”

“How,” asks Peter, “can you take advantage when I want you to?”

“Because at this point your brain is about 70% alcohol.”

Peter pouts.

“Take back what I said. You’re still evil.”

“Terribly so, yes. I am a monster. But I should leave. Then sun is coming up in less than an hour, and I believe you humans still need to sleep.”

Peter protests, enthusiastically, but still he is swept up in Aro’s arms, lifted as if he weighs nothing at all (and that, he attempts to make a mental note of for the future, is incredibly hot), and carried into his bedroom, and deposited with little care on his bed. And okay, much as Peter desperately wants Aro inside him (in any way he likes, at this point including fangs deep in his arteries), there is something to be said for lying motionless with his face pressed into the mattress.

“Don’t go,” he mutters, muffled, into the fabric of his pillow.

“I have to. Please do not be too angry with me in the morning, Peter.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I will. Sorry.”

Aro kisses his cheek, and then he must leave, because the next time Peter speaks there is no response, only the relentless spinning of the dark room. No reassuring monster lurking in the shadows, watching him. Or watching over him.


	10. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a rough morning, a worse night and he can't even get any sympathy

Peter wakes up and immediately regrets his decision. His head is pounding, and whatever remains in his stomach is trying very hard to escape back out of him, and even worse, he has memories of last night. Of clinging to Aro, of the vampire’s hands on him, and his tongue in his mouth. He strongly suspects there will be little parallel red marks on his throat. Not ones that have broken the skin, he knows that, by tiny vampiric bruises still. God. Why did he let himself do something so stupid?

After vomiting into the bin for a few minutes, he sinks down into his bed again, burying his head under his pillow. Did Aro carry him into his bed last night? Fuck that’s embarrassing. And his drunken ranting? Somehow even worse. And Aro just- just letting him, like the bastard he is. Watching him get so drunk he can’t make a sensible decision and then taking advantage. Just like an evil vampire would. Dimly he remembers promising Aro that he wouldn’t be too angry. Well. Past drunk Peter can get fucked.

The mobile vibrates, angrily, and Peter ignores it until it stops before checking it. Fuck. He’s got a show in two hours and he was meant to be in rehearsals today. Nope. He’s not ready to face other people yet. He gives himself ten minutes to suffer silently before forcing himself to get up. Starts running a bath and makes himself a coffee with too much sugar before sinking down into hot steaming water up to his chin. It makes drinking his coffee slightly challenging, but this is not the first time this has happened.

He's put in a bathbomb (for self care, and the sharp lemony scent cuts through the lingering stench of regurgitated alcohol and stomach acid), and the water glitters. Sparkling. Like Aro in the sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. Stupid fucking vampire. Even more stupid fucking Peter. He wishes he had the undead creature's number so he could tell him off. Everything reminds him of the stupid monster. The monster some parts of him has come to associate with safety, which is pretty fucking ironic. Granted, Aro could, if he wished, likely keep Peter safe from almost anything, but clearly the bloodsucker is toying with him. After all, what else could he possibly want from him?

Once he finishes his coffee and feels less like a member of the undead himself, he scrubs at his skin until he can convince himself he can no longer feel the ghost of Aro's touch. He was right, though. There are little bite marks on the side of his throat, next to where the old scars from last year are. Perhaps Aro means to replace them with marks of his own. Would that be preferable? Peter hates his scars, hates how they remind him of that terrifying experience, but if Aro were to replace those bite marks with ones of his own, would that be better or worse? It's like some weird kind of branding. So no. No, that would be bad.

His phone rings again, loud and insistent, and once more he ignores it. If he doesn't pick up he can't be yelled at for being late.

-

Peter runs, fast as he can, rounding a corner and kicking at a pile of rubbish in the hopes of slowing down the thing following him. It is huge and hairy and terrifying, and had that asshole vampire not told him that werewolves were real he would be having a significant mental breakdown right now. His chest hurts, his lungs hurt, and his legs are burning. He has been neglecting his almost non existent work out regime, and he is starting to regret it.

The sounds of heavy paws on asphalt grow closer, the scrape of claws sharp and threatening. The heavy breath of the creature is right behind Peter now, just a few metres, and the corner he has rounded has lead him into an alley, the end of which is a dumpster and overflowing black binbags leaned up against the wire fence. Fuck. Peter isn't ready to die here, not now.

He hadn't been hunting the werewolf, hadn't expected one at all, seeing as the moon's a couple days past full, but as Aro pointed out they don't always need it. No, he had been staking out a nest of vampires, and when a creature had emerged from the cellar he had, naturally, assumed it to be one of them. And so he had, almost instinctively, fired his crossbow. Which had, quite understandably, enraged the enormous lupine creature, who had responded by charging at him.

The snarl of the thing is terrifying, and Peter is backing further into the alley, his hands up in surrender. It stinks here, and the hot, foul breath of the beast is not helping either.

"Look, I'm sorry," he says, hoping that he can somehow get through to the creature, "I thought you were a vampire! Which you're not, clearly, I can see that, big impressive werewolf. And you, I can assume, killed the vampires? So good- good job! I support you! And I'm very sorry about the bolt in your shoulder, honest! Big wolf fan."

The wolf creature, which has now risen onto its hind legs, towering over Peter, does not seem to care. It bares a vast maw filled with what seems like impossibly many sharp fangs. It places an enormous paw on the centre of Peter's chest and shoves him to the ground. He is absolutely terrified, convinced he is going to die, here in a stinking, filthy alleyway, alone, over a stupid mistake. 

The werewolf falls down to all fours again, paws thumping against the ground, and closes in. It walks closer, till its broad, oversized snout is right next to Peter's face. He squeezes his eyes close, wonders if it's too late for a prayer. Probably. The wolf's breath is hot on his skin, hot and damp and foul, and he hears it sniff him. Then, oddly, instead of fangs clamping down on Peter's throat, there is a moment of silence. Then an almost questioning sort of growl. Peter chances on opening a single eye. It meets a massive pitch black one. The noise he makes is embarrassing and terribly high pitched. The wolf huffs, backing away, and gives Peter a last look before breaking into a run, and disappearing into the dark night.

"What?" Peter demands of the night air.

"What the fuck?"

The night air fails to reply. Peter sits up and runs his hands through his hair. There is something wet in it he doesn't want to investigate further. His heart is beating so terribly fast, and Peter wonders, briefly, whether he is about to have a heart attack. No. Deep breath. Exhale. Inhale. Repeat in perpetuity. 

He gets to his feet, and feels in his pocket for- a pile of broken glass? Fuck. He's landed on his phone. Again. Third this year. He needs to get one of those old school nokias or something for hunting because this keeps fucking happening. Using the post of one of his ear rings, he extracts his sim card and tosses the broken phone in onto the pile of rubbish behind him.

It takes him a full twenty minutes to retrace his steps and find where he parked his car. The crossbow, which he dropped in his panic, is gone. Can't trust anyone in this city. He gets a couple of stakes from the car, and heads down into the vampire nest. There is blood just everywhere. These vampires, clearly, aren't the kind that turn to dust, because there are heads and limbs strewn everywhere. He counts the heads and concludes there must have been at least seven of them. Maybe a bit many for him to deal with on his own. Must be one tough werewolf. 

As he sneaks back out of the site of the massacre, he wonders what made the wolf change its mind. He doesn't think that it was his getting through to the human below the furry exterior, because it seemed to be his scent. Does he smell like silver? He's rich, but not enough he smells of precious metals, he doesn't think. And all his stakes and crucifixes are wooden. And the only other reasonable explanation is absolutely horrible. Because it is that even after half a week and four showers he still smells like Aro. He smells like a big scary vampire, and that's enough that a random monster doesn't eat him. Which, okay, he's happy to not be dog food currently, yes, but it's still kind of a gross idea.

He stops at a petrol station on his way home, and gets himself a massive, sugary coffee, and ignores the weird look the employee gives him. There may or may not be both mud and blood in his hair and on his face. Bit of wolf saliva on his jacket. He needs to make his assistant buy him a new iPhone and also have his car deep cleaned tomorrow.

-

 _Met a werewolf_ Peter texts Charley, _Those are real, it turns out. Survived._

 _!!!_ comes the reply, understandably.

_Turns out you gotta watch out for those puppies outside the full moon too. B careful, kids._

“What the fuck’s up with you?” 

Peter looks up from his phone, into the devastatingly beautiful and scowling face of Irena, one of the women playing a vampire in his show. She tosses her long black hair back before settling in the front row seat next to him and handing him a styrofoam cup of shitty coffee.

“I know losing Ginger’s been hard on you, but your moping is getting worse. You need to get laid.”

She says this in her faint ambiguously Slavic accent (she won’t tell him where she’s from because she thinks it’s funny he can’t tell from her accent), completely without irony. Which is what he likes about her.

“That’s, uh. I mean, that’s part of the problem.”

“Oh. New girl?”

“New guy. I mean. Sort of. ‘S complicated.”

“Ah, there’s your problem. You need to date ladies. We are better.”

Irena is a lesbian, and as such is perhaps not entirely unbiased. She told him once she would make an exception for him, and he’s pretty sure she meant it as a compliment rather than the transphobic insult it sounds a bit like.

“Shit. Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He watches the stage techs double check wires and harnesses for a moment. 

“I just… I like this guy. And he likes me. But I don’t want to like him. And last time I saw him I got really fucking drunk and we made out. And I feel pretty shitty about that.”

She frowns.

“Did he- you know. Do things against your will?”

“No, not really. We, I mean. Wouldn’t have made out with him if I was sober, but. Well. Would’ve wanted to. He insisted on leaving, eventually.”

“Does not sound too bad, then?”

“Yeah, but he’s-”

A vampire, he doesn’t say. Evil, he also doesn’t say. Literally from the fucking Bronze Age, he also doesn’t point out. 

“What?”

“Bit shady,” Peter settles on.

“And this is problematic for you?”

“Oi. Don’t appreciate the slander. But yeah. It’s, uh, it’s in a way that bothers me.”

“Then stop seeing him.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” she tells him, mildly exasperated, “make up your mind. We have to start again in two minutes.”

“You’re no help, you know that?”

She rolls her eyes at him and leaves, probably to see if she can sneak in an illicit smoke break in less than a minute. Peter swallows his coffee and opens his phone again. It’s new and shiny, but the same model as his last one, and so slightly less fun than it could be. He opens the notes app to his list of reasons not to like Aro.

 _13:_ he adds, _takes advantage of me being drunk._

He considers for a moment.

_14: Refuses to have sex with me even when I ask._


	11. Panic Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have anxiety any room can be a panic room

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Peter mutters, backing up against the wall.

The vampire approaching him is getting closer, and Peter has only one stake, made significantly less sharp by having been accidentally knocked against the wall a couple of times. Worse, though, is the way the creature’s face is splitting open. The mouth is open impossibly wide under coal black eyes, revealing a piranha like collection of needle fangs. It looks like Jerry.

His back hits the wall, and without meaning to he slides down, curling in on himself, as if the vampire can’t untangle his limbs to get to his throat, as if it can’t drain his blood from whatever piece of skin it can get to. Peter tries to move, tries to force himself to get up, to stake the creature, but he can barely manage to breathe. Fuck. Really not the time for a panic attack, brain. His brain doesn’t care. It’s just bombarding him with the memory of Jerry hunting him, pacing around the house he grew up in, calling out taunts to a terrified Peter hiding under his bed. 

It’s funny, having his brain tell him he’s about to die when he actually genuinely is about to die, when the vampire is toying with him, ready to eat. He can’t move, can’t do anything to defend himself, can only gasp for breath, eyes stinging, fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He feels the creature’s claws against his arm, and he tries to make peace with the fact that this is how he’s going to go (something he has had to do a lot lately), when the claws are ripped away, taking some of his shirt and the skin of his arm with it.

The noises, horrifying and grotesque as they are, don’t quite penetrate into his mind. And when they go quiet, when there is no more sound of movement, that barely registers either. He jumps, though, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Someone is talking to him, but he can’t concentrate, can’t make sense of anything. Can only feel the pain of his minor wounds, the absolute terror that is a mixture of memories.

Dimly he is aware of being pulled into something cold and solid, an arm wrapping around him. A soothing voice that might as well be speaking a foreign language. No. That _is_ speaking a foreign language. Gradually the world settles around him. The spectre of Jerry fades, his phantom footsteps retreating. Peter’s breathing eases a little, his heart slowing to a slightly more reasonable rate. His face, he realises, is pressed into Aro’s chest, his arm around Peter’s shoulders, murmuring something soothing in what sounds like Italian.

“What-” Peter begins to ask, then coughs. 

The air is filled with vampire dust, and his throat feels raw.

“It is all right,” Aro tells him, “there are no more vampires. Well, none but me. And I promise not to eat you.”

Peter shudders, but he doesn’t move away, not quite yet. Concentrates on his breathing. On the feeling of Aro stroking his back, slow and calming. That’s a fucking joke, isn’t it? A vampire saving him from vampires and calming him down from his vampire induced panic attack. But then, lately, what has his life been, other than a giant stupid joke?

“’M sorry,” Peter mutters into the fabric of Aro’s suit, which has gone grey with vampiric ashes.

“It is no matter. I am here. I should have realised that this species of vampire, in particular, would be more… challenging for you.”

Peter knows the vampire is trying to be kind, but he resents it still. He shouldn’t be like this, shouldn’t be completely fucking incapacitated just because it’s the same type of vampire as Jerry. Jerry’s gone. Dead. He saw him burn himself. Hell, he _felt_ him burn. Just as the beginning vampiric infection was burnt out of his own blood. 

“Yeah,” he says, extracting himself from Aro’s arm, even as much as some part of him feels that it is a good place to be, comfortable, safe.

He staggers to his feet, leaning against the wall. Wipes his face clean of dust and the beginnings of tears and leaves a smear of blood instead. Fuck. Whatever.

“Lets get out of here, yeah?”

“If you wish.”

“I wish.”

The good thing, of course, about vampires whose corpses turn to dust or ashes, is that one doesn’t really leave a crime scene. Sure, there are blood smears on the floor and the walls, but there are no bodies to be found, and Peter is wearing gloves, because he may or may not have been briefly arrested, so he is quite careful to avoid leaving finger prints. So in the abandoned warehouse basement, where the largely underground vampires had made their nest, the two of them leave nothing but splintered wood and vaguely humanoid piles of dust, which Peter kicks at as they pass them.

“That’s a bit disrespectful,” Aro remarks calmly.

“Don’t really respect them,” Peter bites back, more aggressively than he needs to, so he adds “besides, would be a bit suspicious if anyone finds a bunch of distinctly human shaped piles of ashes, right? Would make ‘em more likely to think someone’s been burning bodies or something.”

“I suppose.”

It’s the first time Peter has seen Aro since that very drunken night two weeks ago, and had they not been fighting vampires, things would have gotten awkward sooner. Peter is still angry at him, but not as actively any more. Rather it’s a sort of lingering resentment which he isn’t even sure is deserved any more. Sure, yes, Aro’s kind of an asshole, but what is Peter expecting? For someone that old to change? He didn’t really take advantage of him, and he seems for whatever fucked up reason to actually want Peter to genuinely like him. Perhaps it’s a vampire challenge of sorts. Find a hunter who really hates them and trick the hunter into falling in lo- No. That’s absolutely not what he’s doing. Getting used to Aro’s presence through repeated exposure, that’s all. 

They get to Peter’s car and get in. Peter still has not seen Aro with any vehicle, and had he not been repeatedly assured otherwise he would have assumed Aro travelled by turning into a bat and flying or something. Peter is about to turn the key, but Aro lays a hand over his.

“Wait a moment, please?”

“Why?”

“I would like to… Talk to you. And I would prefer your full attention.”

Peter sighs, turning halfway in his seat to face the vampire. The light is dim, the shine of street lights not quite illuminating their faces, but Aro’s pallor makes his expression readable to Peter’s eyes still.

“Sure. Go for it.”

“I would like to apologise, for- for last time. I ought to have left earlier.”

“You should,” Peter agrees.

You should have stayed, he thinks, and immediately squashes the thought down and away. Aro isn’t touching him, so he doesn’t know, can’t know, and yet those eyes, completely black in this light, seem to see right through him.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I simply… simply enjoy your company. And I found it hard to be, I suppose, the sober and responsible one.”

Peter snorts, amused. Because it’s pretty ridiculous, isn’t it.

“Yeah, whatever. I do have sympathy for your inability to get drunk, but it does make it… bit unfair, maybe.”

“It is not a complete inability. If I drink from someone very inebriated, I get some of the effect. It is, however, not a very good idea.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow, and barely keeps himself from adding that they’ll have to give that a try.

Because no. Nope. He is not offering this vampire his blood. Absolutely not. Fucker’s already had a taste, he doesn’t need any more. Peter is using all his blood, thank you very much. 

“I am incredibly strong, and not using too much of that strength takes concentration. There is not much difference, to me, that I can feel, between a caress and something that would cause a human pain.”

“Yeah? You’re just too strong and powerful? Sounds like a bummer.”

“There is no need for mockery.”

There is, in fact, plenty of need for mockery, Peter thinks, but he doesn’t want to actually make the vampire angry. He is fairly certain, by now, that Aro won’t kill him, but there is no need to tempt fate too much. He might decide he needs another taste of Peter’s blood, even if he won’t take enough to kill him.

“Why?” he asks instead, “why do you enjoy my company? Why do you like me? Why keep seeking me out? You’re an ancient, powerful and pretty attractive vampire. You can do better than some past-his-prime Vegas show guy who keeps being surprisingly bad at any actual vampire hunting and keeps needing to be saved?”

He is grateful, now, for the low light, because that was slightly more than he intended.

“Only pretty attractive? Please. I’ve seen in your mind.”

Peter groans.

“Really not the point.”

“I know. I am sorry. But surely, by now, you know? It started simply as a fascination with your hatred for yet obsession with vampires. I find your particular set of morals and convictions fascinating. And you, too, are attractive. And driven, at least in some aspects of your life. You amuse me, and I enjoy your company. I, and this surprised me as well, I want you to actually like me.”

Peter stares at the window, just behind Aro’s shoulder, rather than his face. These conversations are a lot easier without eye contact.

“That a vampire thing? Amusing yourself by tricking humans into liking you?”

“No. We’re not- we are as varied as the humans we were, Peter. Well. Most of us. Some vampires are born as such-”

“What, really?”

“Yes. Not my kind, though. I will- please, I will tell you about them later, I assure you. But I want you to understand, please, that I am not trying to manipulate you. Not any more. I am not sure how I can convince you of this. I am not even sure what your- why you won’t. I like you, Peter. And you like me. I know you do. I do not understand what your issue is.”

“You don’t? You’ve been in my head and you still don’t see the fucking problem?”

Aro reaches a hand out, but Peter flinches away. Aro takes it anyway. Peter, of course, is still wearing the gloves, so it is not like it matters, not really. And oh, Peter’s stupid traitor body and stupid traitor brain wants it, wants so badly to give in.

“It is all right, Peter, I promise you. You are not betraying the memory of the loved ones you have lost to other vampires.”

Peter laughs, harsh and bitter.

“Am I not? Seems like a thing a vampire would say, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Peter.”

“Well neither do fucking I,” Peter bites back, which isn’t, in hindsight, as good a comeback as he intended.

His breathing is getting faster again, his heart angrier, the panic that never quite went away rising again. Aro squeezes his hand.

“Peter-”

“Fuck,” Peter mutters, taking his hand back, drawing his knees up, curling in on himself once more.

He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Aro to see him like this. So weak. Pathetic. So terribly human. He tries to breathe. Inhale, exhale, ignore the immensely powerful monster sitting next to him looking worried who could kill him in an instant should he so wish. 

It is better, this time. Easier to force down. Only takes a few minutes of concentrating. What the fuck is up with him today, did he forget his meds? Actually, yeah, he might have. Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit timing.

“How do you feel?” Aro asks, once Peter is feeling a little calmer.

“Like shit.”

“I am sorry.”

Peter feels guilty, now, too, on top of everything else. That’s a fucking joke. What’s he got to feel guilty about? Being human? Not being a cold, emotionless member of the undead? Not that Aro is, not emotionless, clearly. But sort of… distant, sometimes. Like things don’t happen strongly enough to faze him. Which makes sense, doesn’t it? Makes sense that if you’ve been alive that long, nothing really matters to you. So why does Peter?

“I will let you be, then,” Aro tells him, leaning in, too quick for Peter to process, to leave a kiss on his cheek, before disappearing out into the night.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to have them move faster, but Peter is not very cooperative. Can't promise this frequent an update schedule going forward, because I am procrastinating on working on paintings for customers for this, and I just had a series of strong thoughts on how this should happen, and so. Anyway. Three chapters in less than 24 hours. Efficient. Flexing arm emoji. Something.  
> Also any human character I write has anxiety because I don't know how to write someone who doesn't. Also Peter probably has (treated, but still) PTSD because who wouldn't after trauma like that. Poor dude's brain is not great.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is falling, relentlessly, despite his best efforts

Peter gasps at the feeling of fangs against his throat, cool breath on sensitive skin. A hand is pinning both of his wrists against the headboard, and he couldn’t get loose if he wanted to. It’s an intoxicating thought.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his lips swollen and red.

“Please what?” comes the reply, playing at intimidation, but remaining amused.

“Need you.”

Cold, wet kisses are placed down his throat, across his chest, lingering briefly on his nipples. Hands releasing his wrists, running down along his sides, making him shiver. The kisses move down his stomach, and then, cruelly, skip to his inner thighs. There is a hand, now, holding his hip in place, keeping him from shifting to get Aro’s mouth closer to where he needs it. 

“Aro,” he whines.

Long, soft hair tickles his skin, and bright red eyes are looking up at him, expectantly, smugly.

“What?”

“Get on with it! Please!”

Aro deliberately takes his time, pressing feather-light kisses to both of Peter’s thighs before finally, finally there is a cool tongue on Peter’s clit. Aro presses two fingers into Peter, thrusting slow, and it’s not enough, not quite, and Peter tries to press into it and-

The persistent ringing breaks through, and Peter opens his eyes and swears. Against his better judgement he answers the phone.

“What?” he demands, more aggressively than is perhaps necessary.

“You told me to call you to remind you you have a meeting with, and I quote, the important money people in forty five minutes,” his assistant tells him cheerfully.

She is used to his greeting her like this. He reminds himself he probably needs to give her a raise.

“’S it important?”

“...Yes. You told me to tell that you absolutely need to be there, despite it being at, I quote again, an absolutely ungodly hour. So. You know. Noon.”

“Fuck.”

“You said you would say that. And to insist that yes, you need to get up right now if you want to have time to drink a litre of coffee before the meeting starts.”

“Fuck,” he says again, “right. Thanks.”

He hangs up, and falls back into the pillows. Course the vampire sneaks into his dreams. What the fuck else would he do, other than leave Peter terribly horny and frustrated. God, it’s getting harder and harder to push down and away the feelings Peter is beginning to have to admit he has for the vampire. And these feelings specifically, the lust, that’s fine, that’s whatever. You can be in lust with someone terribly, that’s just bodies wanting other bodies. The emotions, though. Those are harder to deal with. 

For efficiency, he masturbates while he showers. Multitasking. He tries to think about anything but Aro when he comes, but of course all his mind can supply is that same image of the vampire between his legs. He lets his head thunk heavily against the wet tile. Stupid fucking vampire. He needs to get him out of his mind. Out of his dreams.

He goes into the kitchen and makes himself a quintuple shot latte, and it is only as he’s nearing the bottom that he notices the letter sitting on the island, leaned against the basket of far-past-their-prime fruit. It’s an expensive looking cream envelope, with his name written in an exquisitely beautiful hand writing. When he turns it over, it’s closed with a red wax seal. It’s an ornate V, the same one as he’s seen Aro wearing in amulet form a few times. Stupid fancy vampire. He gets out a kitchen knife and cuts it open from the top, the seal too fancy to break, whoever made it.

_Dear Peter,_

_I thought you deserved a way to more easily contact me by now. I will endeavour to let you know when I am coming, rather than, as you say, scare the absolute shit out of you. Here is my telephone number._

Under that is written a long number with a country code that is definitely not American, and under that is some Italian which google translate tells Peter means Be well, be safe. It is signed in some strange characters Peter can’t recognise. He’s pretty sure they’re not Greek letters, but there are two of them. Perhaps Aro’s initials?

 _u had 2 sneak in2 my house to tell me ur number? Couldn’t just fuckin text me like a normal poerson?_ he texts the number.

 _I am not a normal person,_ comes the reply after barely two minutes, _but I am glad it only took you two days to locate it._

Peter sends a string of emojis in return, by which he means to communicate what the fuck. Aro replies with a question mark. Serves him right.

-

“What the fuck do you mean the numbers are down?” Peter demands, and downs more of his too bitter coffee.

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” the producer replies, “you need change. People aren’t excited about your show any more. You need something more. To rebrand. Vampires aren’t in any more, you can do the same tricks with a different theme.”

“Tricks,” Peter repeats dumbly.

“I don’t know. I think science fiction might be making a comeback. You need a different theme.”

“No. Fuck no. It’s Peter Vincent: Vampire Hunter. That’s the concept. That’s the show.”

“Unless you start selling more tickets there will be no show.”  
-

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Peter bangs his head against the steel wall of the lift as it descends. He doesn’t want to change the show. He can’t change it. The vampire hunting is the point, the magic is incidental. It’s fun and cool and looks impressive, but the point of it is the vampire hunting. Making vampires less cool and hunters more. And sci fi? Really? What piece of shit PR idiot came up with that?

 _hey,_ he texts Aro, _got some vamps need killing? In the mood to do some murders._

It’s half past one in the afternoon, so probably not. Actually, why did Aro reply earlier? Does he just not sleep? Most vampires sleep, don’t they? But perhaps his invulnerability to the sun lets him have as bad a sleep schedule as Peter has. 

_I do not,_ comes the reply fifteen minutes later, as Peter is sitting in a Starbucks sipping a disgustingly sweet and strong frappuccino, _have any vampires in need of murder, I fear, at the moment. But I am certain that you can find some worthy of hunting should you try._

Which is a bummer. And yes, sure, he can find some on his own, some who kill people, but with his recent experiences he isn’t that keen on going hunting without Aro. Which is stupid. The presence of the dangerous vampires should not be making him feel safe, but then, who better to protect him from the monsters than the biggest and scariest monster? And he feels certain, now, that Aro will protect him. He has saved his life numerous times already, but without him? What if Peter accidentally pisses off another werewolf? What if he has a panic attack and Aro isn’t there to decapitate his attacker with his bare hands? He doesn’t, he finds, want to die. Which is an odd feeling to have when not in active danger.

What is he going to do if he can’t hunt alone any more? If he gets too anxious to do so on his own? Without a vampire there to protect him? Pathetic. Weak. Useless. And the only other source of help he might recruit is a literal child. Well, eighteen now, but still. That’s just irresponsible. 

-

He tries to drown his issues in alcohol and other people’s bodies. The lights are bright neons in the darkness, reflecting the sheen of sweat as people dance, poorly and enthusiastically, to the beats of the music. They are so strong he can feel the rhythm in his bones. He buys a series of fancy, overpriced drinks and lurks in a corner for a little while, until he is drunk enough, until he sees someone that appeals to him enough to try and get into bed with them. Everyone here is disgustingly attractive in that particular American way, perfect and polished in a way that unsettles him. 

It takes too long to get properly drunk, but when he at last gets there he watches a goth couple get into an argument, ending with one of the woman throwing her drink in the other’s face. Yeah. That seems like the kind of person Peter might like, or at least understand. He waits for a little while, then approaches her with another drink. Her eyeliner is smudged, but so is his, so who is he to judge?

It’s fine. The sex is fine. They’re both pretty drunk, but she is hot, and he is hot, and usually that’s a good sign. Still, whose face keeps appearing in his mind? Whose fucking dead pale visage hovers behind his eyes as he comes? Still fucking Aro. Of course it’s him. Can’t leave him alone even when he isn’t there.

He tosses the woman out, afterwards. She only tells him to fuck off twice. Maybe they’ll hook up again, because that’s pretty good, for him. Afterwards he lies, staring up at the ceiling mounted mirror. He put it there originally to make sure he never accidentally fucked a vampire, but now he’s learned that many of them do have reflections it feels stupidly narcissistic. There are smeared black lipstick marks on his neck and chest, and his eyeliner has migrated entirely into the bags under his eyes. Lovely. Perfect. 

He finds himself imagining what Aro might look like there, laying next to him. Deathly pale, his long dark hair spread out around his head. The moonlight making his skin shine faintly, like a marble statue. Imagines an infinitely strong arm pulling Peter towards him, until Peter’s head can rest against his chest. Wonders what it feels like. What Aro’s body even looks like, because he has only seen him entirely covered up. He has the faint, drunken memory of trying to get his shirt off, but he doesn’t think he got very far.

Again, being drunk, the many and very good reasons for disliking Aro fade in importance and prominence in his mind. He opens up a new file in his notes app.

_**Reasons to like Aro:** _

That’ll teach sober him.

_1: Hot  
2: Saves my life a lot  
3: Def not into me for the fame or money  
4: No risk of him being murdered by vampires  
5: Can actually talk to him about all the absurd supernatural shit in my life  
6: Can protect me from monsters  
7: Very strong (hot)  
8: Genuinely very fascinating person. Can tell me loads about history & the supernatural.  
9: Good goth fashions  
10: Better hair than me (still unfair)  
11: Weirdly considerate for a 3351 year old monster  
12: Fangs (hot)  
13: Somehow has seen the inside of my brain and still likes me  
14: Doesn’t take advantage of me being drunk and horny_

There are, he notices, several items that appear on both lists. Which is.. Fine. It’s fine. But the thing is, this list is… It’s tempting. It makes it sound almost reasonable for Peter to like this creepy vampire who repeatedly sneaks into his flat (extremely creepy and a violation, obviously), almost like a good idea. And now, right now, he wants it. Wants whatever Aro wants from him also. A regular relationship seems absurd, given, well. Given everything. But perhaps there could be something? There could be… there could be sex. Maybe whatever form of friendship an ancient monster is capable of. Which, what would that even look like? Peter doesn’t know. He has faint visions, inspired by old films, of being swept away to some gothic castle, all candle chandeliers, fluttery white curtains, bats fluttering in the air. But no, that’s not quite Aro’s vibe. Slightly old fashioned but incredibly expensive hotels? Or something more ancient? A rebuilt ancient temple, perhaps.

There can’t be anything functional between them, not really. They are too different, clearly. What would they do, live together? Be domestic? No, that’s ridiculous. Ridiculous not just because of Aro, but because of Peter too. He’s not made for that sort of thing. Not made for healthy relationships, really. What he and Ginger had was dysfunctional and a bit fucked up. He thinks he loved her, he isn’t sure she knew. He misses her, but it wasn’t really a healthy relationship. And Aro in her place? That’s absurd. Everything about his life is absurd. Aro is absurd. And still, Peter wants him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aro's signature is his name written out in Linear B, the script used by Mycenean Greeks in the late Bronze Age, when Aro was, you know, human and stuff. It's syllabic, hence only two characters. This is interesting to me and absolutely no one else, but that's your problem.


	13. Vampire Seduction Time (accidental)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kind of emotional horniness where you can feel your pulse in your hands

“What are you staring at?” Peter demands, hands on his hips, having walked in, after his show, to find Aro in his lounge, sipping a glass of blood.

“You. Why are you dressed like a pirate?”

“Piss off. I’m very clearly dressed like a vampire hunter. You’ve seen my posters.”

He walks over to the bar, grabs himself a bottle of beer, and shrugs his coat off, tossing it over the back of a chair. 

“I have,” Aro admits, “but I find it looks more pirate-like in person.”

Peter rolls his eyes, peeling off his fake facial hair, his wig and the fake tattoos on his neck. 

“But you know,” continues Aro, “that this would be incredibly impractical for actual vampire hunting.”

“Says you, who never wears anything that’s not a suit. Including for fighting.”

“I suppose that is fair,” Aro agrees, “but those,” he nods at Peter’s very tight leather trousers, “do not look like they are easy to move in.”

“They’re not,” Peter admits, “but they look good.”

“Ah, of course. The most important thing while hunting vampires. Looking good.”

“It’s not _un_ important,” Peter argues, “see, again, you and your incredibly expensive looking suits.”

“I suppose. That’s why you’ve been wearing ill fitting denim and hooded jumpers with holes in them when we’ve gone hunting, then?”

“Nah. You just don’t deserve to see me at peak sexy hunter yet. Wouldn’t trust you to concentrate.”

Aro laughs, which, hey, insulting. But Peter doesn’t disagree.

“Perhaps that would be a danger, yes. Best to be safe.”

Obviously, right now, Aro is the one being distractingly attractive. He is wearing the usual fairly normal suit, everything in all black, but there is a single button of his shirt undone, and for the vampire that is almost indecent. Which is ridiculous, Peter realises this, but that doesn’t mean he can help it. Can’t help watching the way the blood tints his lips just that much more red. Which. Christ. That blood was inside someone once. Hopefully inside someone who is still alive and didn’t realise their blood donation would go to a vampire’s dinner, but still. Stupid sexy vampire.

“Do you mind if I ask about those?” Aro asks, gesturing with his glass in the general direction of Peter.

“Got to be a bit more specific.”

“Your scars.”

“Oh. Sure.”

“The vampire bite ones.”

“Oh! Right. Those. I- sure.”

“What happened?”

Peter frowns.

“Thought you’d seen all my traumas in my head?”

“Not in any great detail. And all your memories were focused on the one vampire.”

“Mm. True. Fucking Jerry. Fuck I’m glad that nightmare is dead. But yeah. Bout a year ago now, this kid came asking me for help fighting vampires. And, you know, being a reasonable person I told him to fuck off.”

“Naturally.”

“I hear your sarcasm and don’t appreciate it. But anyway. Kid came back, little while later, and brought the vampire who killed my parents into my home, then yelled at me for not wanting to risk my life trying to hunt this monster who traumatised me twenty five years ago. And then made me feel guilty enough to do so anyway.”

“Seems challenging.”

“Was a bit, yeah. Anyway, snuck into the place. Confronted the big bad. Was surrounded by like ten of his minions, who all jumped me and bit me. Would have turned me, too. Or, rather, they did. For like… a few minutes? Maybe ten? I started burning in the sunlight and everything. Not a good day.”

“Fascinating.”

Aro is leaning towards him, now, bright red eyes sparkling with interest. And okay, Peter should have realised he would have liked this.

“Does it play into your hatred of vampires, do you think? Or your growing ability to not try to kill me, having been one, however briefly?”

Peter downs his beer before he can answer this one. Does it? Might do. Certainly didn’t help his self hatred. Which sure, he might project and frequent feel very confident, might, for several reasons, experience gender euphoria that expresses itself similar to narcissism to the untrained mind, but he really doesn’t like these scars, or what they remind him of. And do they make him resent vampires all the more? Yes. Despite the fact that all the vampires in question reverted to human at the same time as he did? Also yes.

“I mean, probably?” he replies eventually.

Aro gives him a go on sort of nod, clearly expecting something slightly more deep. Peter debates going to get another beer, but he found the list on his phone he wrote a while ago while drunk, as well as some angry incoherent rambling, and so he has concluded that maybe getting drunk in Aro’s presence is a bad idea that leads to bad decisions. 

“I mean. Don’t like being turned into the thing I’ve spent my whole life hating and fearing, do I? Some… some _thing_ , some creature that burns in the sun, that can’t make my own choices. Because for all you talk about all of you being different, being able to choose to be less horrible, Jerry was full on controlling all those vampires he made. And I realise, I know that’s particular to his species, but the thought of how close I came to that being true for me… It’s pretty horrifying. Also, you’ve seen what their faces are like when they go all scary vampire face. Horrifying gargoyle like grotesque things. Very uncomfortable with how close my face came to being able to do that.”

“That I can understand. Not all vampires are as fortunate as us, who only become more transcendentally beautiful with the change.”

He says this with just a hint of a smile, and Peter laughs, a moment of relief in the slight anxiety talking and thinking about that night brings back. 

“I take it you won’t ever be interested in any offer of immortality, then?”

“It’s not,” Peter begins, and falters.

“I don’t mind the idea of immortality, or, whatever, infinite longevity. Not ageing or dying. I quite like the concept of that, gotta admit. But I’m not willing to live off human blood. That’s just. Hard no to vampirism, and it’s not like there’s any true alternatives out there. Don’t want to give up the sun, horrible and painful as it mostly is in this bloody desert. And I’d want a way out. You know. Not true inability to die. Would want something where I could change my mind and off myself. And from what you’ve told me that’s pretty challenging for you lot.”

Aro’s expression is curious, but also seeming somehow satisfied, in a way Peter can’t quite understand. Does he want Peter to want to stay human? That is, of course, the ideal, but it hasn’t seemed like something the vampire has strong opinions on so far. Maybe he’s just grateful Peter won’t beg for immortality and then be super clingy for the next couple of centuries. That’s understandable. Peter wouldn’t want himself around for that long either.

“It is,” Aro confirms, “some among us spent a long time trying. Drowning, shooting, throwing themselves of cliffs, starvation. Nothing works.”

“Wait, hold on. If you can’t starve yourself, then do you even need to drink blood?”

“We can, sort of. We can abstain from feeding, theoretically indefinitely, but it makes us weaker, not just physically, but mentally too. Makes us… Well, imagine the classic horror movie monster. But perhaps more like a werewolf. Desperate for blood. We can, admittedly, go into a sort of… comatose like state. Like what snakes and bears do. Hibernation? Something akin to that. Becoming, essentially, living statues. And in such a state we do not need to feed, but we also cannot do anything, and so as much as you may suggest it is the ethical way for us to live, it is not a real option. So if you ever see me and my eyes have gone entirely black, well. It is a good time to be able to point to an alternative blood source.”

Peter stares into Aro’s eyes for a moment, trying to gauge their darkness before remembering the glass of blood on the table between them. Yeah, probably this is the brightest red they get. There is almost a pink sheen to them, now.

“Your… Your eyes change colour based on how hungry you are.”

“Indeed.”

“Why?”

Aro sighs, picks up his glass and drains the remainder of the blood. The smell of it is strange, strong enough that Peter can help but notice it. Not that the smell of blood is new to him, for a number of reasons, but the context is different.

“I do not know, Peter. I can’t think of any real benefit, other than to warn off humans one would not like to accidentally kill.”

“You ever done that? Accidentally killed someone?”

“Oh, yes,” Aro says, too casually for Peter’s comfort.

He seems to notice, however, because he does elaborate.

“In the first year after a vampire, at least one of my kind, is turned, we are… less in control. More driven by instinct, stronger, less able to control our newfound strength, and also our newfound hunger. Because it is different, Peter, to the hunger a human feels. It is far stronger, can take us over in an entirely different way.”

“Oh. Right. That sounds… hard.”

“It is. It was. Especially back then. The vampire who turned me, the only one I knew, had only been one for a decade when he turned me. And he failed to warn me. So yes. I killed people. I became overwhelmed by the hunger for blood, and in trying to only take some blood, I would drain a person completely. It was… brutal. Inelegant. But it passes.”

Peter isn’t feeling bad for the ancient evil vampire, he refuses to. Not feeling bad for the murderer because he did murders he didn’t intend to do (in addition to the undoubtedly many, many thousands of intentional murders he must have done over the millennia). His stupid traitorous brain feels bad for Aro anyway.

There was a reason Aro arrived (after, generously, sending a text informing Peter that he was arriving, which Peter didn’t see, because he was doing a show at the time. Perhaps they will upgrade to asking rather than telling eventually. Still, it’s progress.), but Peter has forgotten it by now. Are they just hanging out? They are talking about vampires, yes, but they almost always are, and it is distinctly in a getting to know each other better way rather than a strategic learning how to kill other vampires way. 

“Look, I realise most people don’t actually ask to be vampires, that it’s not… not a choice people make, and that when you are turned, you don’t really… Don’t necessarily have a choice. That there’s nothing you can do about it, by then.”

“And yet you want to murder us.”

“Oi, that’s not fair. You murder us first. If you didn’t do that I’d have no problem. Or less of a problem.”

“I suppose that is a fair response, yes. All right. You are, then, not entirely unreasonable.”

“I’m not. Or I don’t want to be. I don’t- Don’t want to be a bad person. And hunting vampires, it felt- feels right. Slightly less, now, of course.”

“Why of course?”

Peter frowns, because that’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it?

“You.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

“Because you’re like a proper person.”

“How generous.”

“Fuck off, you know what I mean. I’m trying to be nice.”

“Trying being the operative word.”

“Know what, I’m taking it back. You’re infuriating.”

“I do try,” Aro quips, with that stupid smug little smile that Peter wants to kiss off his stupid pretty face-

Shit. He groans, leaning back in his chair, his head thumping against the hard metal bit at the top. Whatever he keeps telling himself, he wants the vampire. Wants him in every way. Wants him badly. It’s still a bad idea, but he can’t deny it any more. And while he has never been good at denying himself what he wants (having a near death experience that young encourages what Peter feels fairly certain the kids are calling #yolo mentality these days), he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to want it. 

“Peter?”

Aro’s voice is so soft, yet so close, but Peter hasn’t heard him move. Of course he hasn’t. Sneaky creature of the night. Peter opens his eyes, and sees Aro looking down at him, so close. Even when he isn’t touching, isn’t stealing Peter’s thoughts, he seems to be so aware of what is going on inside Peter’s head. Perhaps that was what he was talking about, about the magical powers some of his kind get are exaggerations of gifts they had as humans. Perhaps he was simply incredibly perceptive back then, too.

“Yeah?” he breathes, very aware of Aro standing over him, blocking out the light, threatening in the most arousing way possible.

“I think, perhaps, you would do well to give in to your worse impulses,” Aro murmurs, a finger trailing along Peter’s jaw.

It’s phrased, maybe out of habit, a bit like a threat, but Peter feels tempted, so horribly tempted.

“Yeah? That so?” Peter retorts, not quite able to come up with a good reason for himself not to at this very moment.

Aro takes his arm and pulls him to his feet completely effortlessly, but with how close he is standing, Peter is less than an inch away from him, looking down into those bright and terrifying eyes. There is something vaguely satisfying about being just a little bit taller than the vampire.

“I do feel so, yes, very strongly,” Aro replies, running a hand up Peter’s side, fingers lingering over old bite scars.

And when the vampire leans in and up to capture Peter’s lips with his own, he doesn’t have the willpower to resist. He doesn’t even take the time to think about Aro’s hands on his waist, his back, his neck, in his hair, all that touch, all that potential thought stealing. All he is aware of is the feel of Aro’s touch, the odd sensation of his cool tongue in Peter’s mouth, the fangs tugging on his bottom lip, hard enough to sting but not to break the skin. He gives in to his instinct, burying a hand in the vampire’s dark, perfect hair, tugging on it, possibly quite hard, but without having to worry about hurting Aro. Still, the vampire seems to be into it, holding Peter ever closer.

Peter pulls back for a moment, needing to breathe. Looks into Aro’s eyes, dark now with a different kind of hunger than the one he was talking about earlier. Before Peter can think better of it, Aro kisses him again, and he can’t help but melt into it. He might literally not be able to, might be held in place, but he doesn’t give himself the chance to find out, just gives into to the impulses he has had for months now.


	14. Adventures in Applied Telepathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter experiences further moral quandaries, and makes some questionable choices. Aro has a good time.

Peter is dimly aware of fangs on every part of him, tearing through his flesh, draining him of blood before suddenly there is nothing. Just a solid shape next to him, a warm weight hanging over his shoulder. His neck aches from being at slightly too aggressive an angle, and his right arm is asleep. He moves it, hand twitching and grabbing, the rings on his fingers getting tangled in short curled hairs. Hmm. There are conclusions he could draw from this information. He isn't sure he wants to.

Eventually, when he can no longer usefully pretend to be asleep. He cracks open a single eye, and his worst fears are confirmed. His head is resting on Aro's shoulder, and the vampire's arm is wrapped around him. The vampire's other arm, or hand, at least, is scrolling through what looks like a very long email on a phone Peter notes with frustration is a model newer than his own. One of Peter's legs is thrown over Aro's, and when he moves it back he can feel the insides of his thighs are sticky with half dried fluids. Delightful.

"Are your nightmares always so loud?" Aro asks, still reading on his phone.

"You were listening?"

"Not purposely. As I said, they were quite loud. And when I am touching you it is hard to block something quite so... intense."

"Right. You did say. Uh. Yeah pretty much."

"I must say, I am mildly disappointed not to see myself."

Peter groans, and shifts over onto his back, head resting against the pillow instead. It feels weird, clinging to Aro like this.

"You want to be in my nightmares?"

"Well, rather your other dreams, perhaps."

Peter watches the vampire in the ceiling mounted mirror. The thin sheet is draped so it just barely protects his modesty. Elegant and tactical sheet drapery presumably being an expertise of people who lived through both Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome. Aro is not exactly what Peter expected. From what the vampire had said Peter had expected more marble statue chiselled muscle. Not that he minds. If anything it doesn't throw his own skinny but decidedly unripped torso into such sharp relief. Anyway, what do you need muscles for when you have super strength?

"You're staring," Aro remarks, catching Peter's eye in the reflection.

"Yep."

"Like what you see?"

"Thought you were a mind reader?"

"I am. I just like to have verbal confirmation."

"Fine. You're, y'know, pretty hot. For a room temperature vampire."

Aro's reflection smiles, smug and ridiculous and pretty. All his skin is the same quarts almost white, and it should look unpleasant and unnatural, but it doesn't. Peter is still not entirely certain he hasn't been hypnotised into being attracted to him, but maybe his long series of vampire related trauma has given him some fucked up attractions. There is the faintest hint of light purple in his skin, as if his recent meal of blood has given him the very faintest flush of colour.

"Why," Aro asks, do you have this mirror?"

"To make sure I don't accidentally sleep with any vampires," Peter mutters, avoiding Aro's gaze.

"How is that working for you?"

"Piss off."

Aro turns onto his side, leaning over Peter and running a finger down his chest. He looms, naturally. Something to do with being old and powerful and scary, probably. Peter feels almost vivisected by those vibrant eyes.

"Did these... hurt?" Aro asks, tracing the gently curving shape of his top surgery scars.

"Cut off chunks of my chest. Course it hurt. Worth it, though."

Aro hums, and leans down to press a kiss to the closest one.

"It is a marvel what you humans do. What you invent to help yourself."

“Mm. Pretty sure trans people have existed for a while.”

“Of course,” Aro agrees, “but it was more challenging to do something about it. You know, surgery, or whatever is closest to the modern definition of that, was quite limited and mostly deadly in my time. I know vampires who, had they remained human now, would appreciate the options you have had.”

“Oh. Oh that’s gotta be horrible. Watching that technology evolve and being unable to make use of it. Huh. Didn’t really occur to me vampires might experience that, too.”

“We can experience most things humans can.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

Aro watches him quietly for a moment, and Peter feels, well, as naked as he is. Feels vulnerable. But Aro’s gaze is almost kind.

“How much are you regretting this?” he asks, voice soft, nearly worried.

Peter thinks. Considers.

“A bit. But I- I mean. More- more later, I think.”

“And you’ll still be angry at me for it?”

“Try not to be. I do realise that me being… Having issues with this, or whatever, that’s not your fault. I can’t help, though, but feel like you have manipulated me into this a bit.”

“Oh? And how have I done that?”

“By being unreasonably hot and surprisingly nice.”

“Oh, well, I apologise.”

“You’d better,” Peter tells him, half serious, because it is entirely unfair of the vampire to be so very appealing.

He isn’t sure, not really, how he actually feels about this. Because while he most certainly has wanted this, has wanted the vampire in his bed for months, now, he has also very badly wanted to resist that desire. But it’s so easy, giving in to temptation. Especially when the temptation is very attractive and, as it turns out, very good in bed. Well, millennia of experience. It might be to be expected.

“Don’t want to be angry at you about it,” Peter continues, which he surprises himself by realising is true, “because the one who keeps fucking up is me. Not your fault I have strong anti sleep-with-vampire policies.”

“Surprisingly mature of you.”

Stupid pretty smirking vampire. Peter closes his eyes, and hears faint shuffling noises, then feels a weight on his shoulder, another, lighter one, on his chest. Aro mimicking the pose Peter woke up in. Which does things to Peter. Inspires in him an intense emotion he cannot quite identify, other than to be fairly certain it’s a bad sign. His hair tickles Peter’s neck, and he wonders how long he will let himself enjoy this before he will be wracked with guilt and regret. Would it be so bad to give in? He has already fucked a vampire, which he promised himself he never would, which it never occurred to him before recently that would ever be a concept that would fill him with anything but disgust. 

He looks at Aro, whose eyes are closed, almost as if in sleep. Almost as if he could be vulnerable. Dark lashes brush his cheeks, and he looks peaceful, in the way a corpse is peaceful. Because he is one. That’s pretty wild, isn’t it? There is a corpse in Peter’s bed, a corpse’s hand resting over his heart. It’s a pretty creepy thought, but also hard to truly believe. Because the corpse is breathing softly, and the corpse keeps telling him that he likes him, and gently making fun of him, and teaching him how to hunt vampires better. So probably that’s mean. And okay, like he told the vampire, it really isn’t his fault that Peter has issues with him. Like many other things in his life, it is his own fault. Although, to be fair, many issues in his life are also the fault of vampires, and as such it is not an unreasonable assumption to make.

The thing is, Peter still doesn’t _want_ to want the vampire. He knows it is wrong, knows that despite how Aro behaves towards him, he has undoubtedly committed atrocities, but fuck, giving in feels very fucking good. Of course, he doesn’t _know_ that Aro has done terrible things, other than several accidental murders, but those were in the bronze age, and he might have changed in the three and a half millennia since then. And if he doesn’t know, then he can pretend. He can choose to believe that the vampire has changed his ways. But he would, undoubtedly, be lying to himself.

“You are upset,” Aro notes, his voice quiet vibrations against Peter’s neck.

“Hey! Told you not to read my mind,” Peter protests.

“I am not. You are not very hard to read, even without supernatural powers. Though being able to hear you heart helps.”  
“Mm. All right. Yeah. I am, a bit.”

“Because of this? Me? Us?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It is understandable, I suppose. Though I wish it were not the case.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. I- I really like you, and I hate that I do, and that’s pretty shitty of me. But it’s not like you don’t know, right? Not like there’s much use in me pretending. I don’t know what I am supposed to about this.”

“If you’ll allow me a suggestion, I feel, quite strongly, that you should give in,” Aro tells him, hand starting at Peter’s cheek, stroking, trailing down until it rests over Peter’s lower stomach, “that you should do what your instincts tell you. What, after all, are the real consequences? Other than you feeling guilt? You already do, Peter, you might as well earn it.”

Two fingers, warmed by the reflection of Peter’s own body heat, surround his clit, touch terribly gentle and extremely good. Cool lips against the side of his neck.

“You do make a compelling argument,” Peter is forced to admit, the last word ending on a barely suppressed moan.

“It is my speciality,” Aro says, and leans over to kiss Peter properly.

Peter pretends to himself he can resist for a moment, but then lets himself give in. As Aro said, if he’s going to feel shitty about it, why not give himself something to feel genuinely guilty about? And Aro is very, very good at this, which helps guide his decision. An exquisitely talented kisser, who tugs at Peter’s lower lip with his teeth at the same moment he slips two fingers into Peter, who makes an undignified noise. He can feel Aro’s cock, hard against his thigh.

“Please,” he begs.

“Please what?”

Peter makes a frustrated noise, reaching down to awkwardly stroke Aro with his left hand, and though it undoubtedly is less than ideal, Aro makes the softest little gasp.

“There’s, uh, there’s condoms in the night stand on your side,” Peter suggests.

“Ah,” Aro says, “no.”

“No?”

“The, ah- Technically, all of my… bodily fluids are venom based, and they do dissolve substances like that.”

“I- Your cum is venomous?”

“Yes,” Aro admits.

“That’s fucking wild. Does that mean I’ll get poisoned if you, uh, come?”

“No. But, and I am not certain how to ask it, if your reproductive system is still-”

“Oh,” Peter interrupts him, not wanting thoughts to go in that direction, not ever, “nope. Nothing functional in there any more. Wait. Vampires can impregnate people?”

“Yes. It is rare, but possible. And it usually kills the- the host.”

“Yikes. Well, I mean, if there are no other dangers, then, you know. Trust you, being immortal, don’t have any STIs or anything.”

“I am immune to disease, yes.”

“Then, you know, is there any other reason not to?”

“Not from my side.”

Which Peter takes as encouragement, turning to press himself against the vampire, kissing him again. Aro’s hands are on him, caressing at first, then gently shoving him down into the mattress. Peter pulls him down into another kiss, feels the blunt pressure of Aro’s cock against him. The vampire reaches a hand down between them, to slowly guide himself into Peter. The stretch is perfect, just a faint burn of discomfort at first, but Aro gives him a few moments to adjust.

“Peter?”

“Mhmm?”

“Would you allow me a small amount of access to your thoughts?”

Peter hesitates, frowns.

“Why?”

“Because I do not wish to accidentally hurt you. And if I can feel your discomfort that is far easier to accomplish. Also, it will make this better for you, I can promise that.”

“Mm. Seems a bit like cheating, that. Being good in bed by monitoring your partner’s responses.”

“It is merely a slightly more invasive version of what any sexual partner who values pleasing the other does.”

“Fine, all right, then.”

It feels, vaguely, like another layer of penetration, only this one far less concrete. The faint sensation of it, like thoughts being pulled from him at their every point of contact, is odd, yet it does not take away from the experience. As Aro starts to slowly thrust into him, Peter can feel him make minute adjustments to his movements, things Peter would not even think to pay attention to, but it is good.

Peter pulls him down into a kiss, hooks a leg around his back, as if he was strong enough that anything he did would be able to affect Aro in any way. Still, the vampire obliges, adjusts. Peter wonders if this makes the experience as good for Aro, or whether he spends all his time focusing on Peter. Which, well, he can’t complain about that. He seems to be enjoying himself, though.

There is, clearly, something to be said for having sex with a telepath. Because true to Aro’s word, it is extremely good. In just the way you can, when masturbating, adjust everything to be perfect for yourself, so, true to his word, does Aro. The sensation of cold inside Peter is a little strange, at first, but he quickly gets used to it, and the way Aro moves definitely helps. Peter arches his back, trying to press every inch of himself against Aro at all times, and Aro slips an arm under him, lifting him up in a way that would be impossible for someone not supernaturally strong. He feels quite manhandled, but in the sexiest way possible.

The pressure builds, coiling within him, until it burst, and he clenches around Aro, digging his fingers harmlessly deep into his skin as he comes. When Aro follows, not long after, there is a shock of cold deep inside him, which feels incredibly strange. That’s not really a place where he expects to feel the cold, but Aro pulls out, the cold getting on his inner thighs too, and drapes himself over Peter again. He hadn’t noticed until now, after calming down for a moment, but the tugging sensation at his mind is gone.

“Hey, so, if you, whatever, monitor my mind while we fuck, does that mean you get to experience double orgasms?”

“Sort of.”

“How sort of?”

“It isn’t like me fully experiencing what you do, but perhaps something like twenty-five percent of it. But yes, it is a nice bonus.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.”

“I am, yes.”

“Shut up.”


	15. Car Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what it says in the title

The issue, of course, with giving in to temptation, and breaking the boundaries that you have set for yourself, is that once broken, those limits are hard to piece back together again. The dam, once broken through, cannot be contained. This proves to be problematic for Peter, who had originally imagined that perhaps fucking the vampire would get all these inconvenient feelings out of his system. This, of course, has not worked. They have, instead, gotten into a sort of new status quo, wherein occasionally Aro will show up, and after brief pretence at business, they will fall into bed, or, once or twice, simply the nearest available mostly horizontal surface.

Peter is unsure whether they are in a relationship, but they are certainly in… something. Peter knows very little of what Aro does when he isn’t with Peter, nor what he is doing in Vegas this frequently (having gotten out of the vampire that he is based in some Italian city Peter’s never heard of, and whose name he almost instantly forgot), whilst Aro knows quite a lot about every aspect of Peter’s life. Part of it, naturally, is the mind reading, but Peter also finds that, without it being particularly intentional, he talks about himself quite easily to Aro. The vampire is a surprisingly good listener. Maybe it’s on purpose. Deliberately avoiding revealing any information by being very curious about Peter’s life, which must seem terribly uneventful by comparison.

It becomes more rare that Aro sends Peter on solo missions, which he does appreciate, and also suspects implies that Aro genuinely worries that he will get hurt. And that is sweet, even if it does sort of ruin the whole initial point, which was Aro needing to secretly get rid of vampires he disagrees with. Peter doesn’t mind, though. He is fairly certain he is improving more efficiently when he isn’t panicking about dying quite so frequently.

“How many?” Peter asks.

They’re sitting in his car, waiting for the right moment, when two people breaking into this place will seem slightly less suspicious. It is what passes for winter in Vegas now, one of the few days with a decent amount of rain, and the temperature has during the night crept perilously close to zero, the wet pavements threatening to become slippery with frost. Peter, not being prepared for this, has underestimated how much clothing he needs, and is shivering.

“Less than a dozen. I do not have more exact numbers. Are you all right? You appear to be vibrating.”

“’M freezing. Do you not remember the concept of cold?”

“Not really,” replies the vampire, confirming how absolutely fucking wildly weird he is.

“Well. It’s not pleasant. And you can’t be any help with your stupid ambient temperature.”

Aro sighs.

“Do you want my cloak?”

Two minutes later, Peter has draped Aro’s fancy and no doubt inordinately expensive cloak with fur trim undoubtedly from some endangered species around himself like a blanket.

"If you get stains on it you're paying for a new one."

"What? You wore it to a fight, Aro. It is going to get fucked up anyway I'm pretty sure."

"I was going to leave it in the car."

"So you wore a fancy expensive cloak specifically just to burst into my living room and tell me we're going hunting and then sit in a car for two hours?"

"Possibly."

"Can't believe I take vampire hunting tips from you."

"No? Yet you seem to have stepped up your hunting fashion game a little?"

And he has, this is true. While it's still jeans and a hoodie, the pieces are expensive and much more flattering. All in black, too, the better to disguise the probable bloodstains.

"Yeah, well. Thought about what you said, and maybe you do deserve to see me being sexier while hunting."

"Very thoughtful of you, my dear."

The endearment, casual as it is, does something to Peter's insides. And the hint of a smile on Aro's face indicates he has both predicted and noticed. He leans over to plant a kiss on Peter's cheek. Even though they have fucked numerous times now, it's tiny little gestures like these that convince Peter that he is, unfortunately, unfairly, falling for the vampire. Which is pretty much breaking rule number one of vampire hunting. But then, Peter has never been great with rules.

They are waiting for the last of the expected vampires to return to their lair before dawn, but that is still a few hours away, and Peter shivers again. The cloak helps, but it's the sitting completely still in a turned off car that's making him freeze. Also he only brought cold drinks for this Stake out portion of the vampire staking expedition (and the stakes, true to name, are out, at least in the sense that they are laying in a pile on the dashboard), which in hindsight might have been somewhat of a mistake. 

"Still cold?"

Peter nods, miserably. 

"I have a suggestion that might get you warmed up," Aro tells him, looking as if he is trying quite hard not to wink.

Peter groans.

"I don't think car sex with someone whose body temperature is about four degrees Celsius is going to help, Aro."

"Ah, well, I just thought I would-"

"That wasn't a no," Peter interrupts.

Aro smiles, and Peter begins the awkward and arduous journey of climbing over to the other side of the car as Aro moves the seat back to give him some room. He settles in Aro's lap, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, and leans in to kiss him.

"Ow," he says, "cold."

"Sorry," Aro tells him, "I suppose you will have to warm me up, then, won't you?"

Peter rolls his eyes, but kisses him again, snaking a hand down to work open Aro's trousers. His cock is, predictably, also terribly cold, and Peter is starting to think this is a design flaw. At least in the one month when it isn't too fucking hot in this stupid desert. Although, he imagines, if they are still doing this by May it will definitely be a bonus.

Aro holds Peter close, with hands that eventually warm up enough not to be directly unpleasant, and doing that thing where he tugs on the skin of Peter's neck with his fangs which Peter had, some weeks prior, been deeply disappointed to realise he finds incredibly hot. He makes a soft noise, grinding down against Aro's thigh, but there are still too many layers of clothing separating them for his liking. So he tugs Aro's cock free, and then decides that is unfair, and cruel, that he actually has to get his jeans off properly while Aro can just poke his prick out like that. In an awkward series of movements, helped somewhat by Peter having briefly dated a contortionist who gave him some tips a few years back, Peter manages to shove his too tight skinny jeans far enough down his legs for this purpose.

"This is, fucking seat belt got my foot, this shouldn't be this difficult," Peter mutters, working on finding the right angle to guide Aro's now sufficiently heated up hardness into him.

The vampire is watching with an amused smile and being absolutely no help at all, despite this being his suggestion.

"No? I recall someone saying once that most things worth doing take some effort."

"And are you?"

"What?"

"A thing worth doing?" Peter asks as he finally manages to get the angle and distance right, shuddering with cold and other, less temperature based sensations as he gradually sinks down on Aro's length.

"I think the amount of times we have done this is your answer," Aro tells him in a voice just a little less controlled, little more breathy than usual.

"Fine," Peter mutters, and is quickly distracted by Aro sneaking a not particularly warm hand up under his shirt and tweaking one of his nipples.

He moans, louder than he means to, pressing himself as close to Aro as he can, moving as much as his still partially restrained thighs allow him to. He feels the by now familiar sensation of the slight tugging at his mind, which he is sure reveals more than he actually wants it to, but by god the sex is great, and it's very hard to convince himself it's not worth it. Besides, nothing Aro has seen yet has caused him to change his mind, which continues to baffle Peter, who is quite familiar with the inside of his own brain, and doesn't particularly like it there.

Peter's hands are on Aro's shoulders for support, and the vampire moves his hand down to circle Peter's clit with two fingers, causing him to moan, and clench down particularly hard. He leans his forehead against Aro, their breath mingling, Peter's almost enough to fog up the car windows on his own. Aro is moving too, thrusting up against him as much as the limited space allows, and guides Peter's head down with his free hand, into a kiss. He licks into Peter's mouth with his cold tongue, and though it should feel unpleasant, Peter has started, by now, to associate it strongly enough with Aro that he is into it.

"You know I appreciate this, don't you? Appreciate you?" Aro asks, his voice low, tinged with something almost like worry, which seems quite unlike him.

"Mm, can feel just how much you appreciate me, actually," Peter replies with a grin, clenching down hard around Aro, who makes the softest little gasp.

It's almost sweet. It would be, were it not an ancient terrifying monster doing it. An ancient terrifying monster Peter is growing disturbingly fond of.

"You know what I mean," Aro insists, doing something very clever with his fingers indeed that has Peter so very close to the edge.

"Uh-huh," Peter pants, slightly distracted now, chasing that sensation and willing Aro loudly in his mind to repeat it.

Perhaps this mind reading is giving him too much control, Peter thinks, and then Aro does it again, and Peter comes with a loud and incoherent moan, burying his face into Aro's neck. His he rest his head there, pressing a kiss to cool skin as Aro continues to move inside him.

"I do," he promises, and he can't quite bring himself to say out loud that so does he, but he feels pretty certain the vampire can feel it in his mind.

When Aro comes, it feels a bit like having his vagina injected with ice water, and he swears loudly, attempting to shy away from the sensation but being quite unable to, both due to their position in the car and also Aro's firm grip on his shoulder and his side.

"Fuck that's cold! We gotta... gotta get a heating pad for your balls or something. God. Fuck. So cold, Aro, so fucking cold."

"My apologies," Aro says, breathing heavy still, presumably mostly out of habit, holding Peter close.

Peter debates whether moving off him will make him more or less cold. Probably both, and so he gingerly lifts himself off, letting Aro's softening cock slip out of him, followed by a dribbling of icy venomous cum. Now that's a thought. He reaches into the back seat and grabs an old bloodstained t-shirt to wipe them clean.

"That's disgusting, Peter."

"And yet you keep coming back for more. Not my fault you make questionable choices."

"I suppose not, no," Aro sighs, watching Peter struggle to pull his trousers up. 

When he succeeds, Aro pulls him close again, wrapping his arms around him. Peter nuzzles into the soft skin in the junction between his neck and shoulder, and thinks again how absolutely fucking absurd and horrible it is that he is doing this, yet finding himself unable to stop, unable to want to stop, even, at anything more than an abstract level.

"You feeling any warmer?" Aro asks softly.

"Not really," Peter replies, "better, yeah, definitely, but not warmer."

"I'll buy you a hot coffee on the way back after we take care of these lesser vampires," Aro promises.

"Thanks. You're a good- whatever you are. Employer slash lover? Vaguely menacing but in a sexy way spooky old man?"

"I am," Aro agrees with a smile.

"You think we've got much longer to wait?"

Peter asks, manouvering himself with some difficulty back into the drivers seat, managing only by sheer luck to avoid setting off the horn with his arse.

"Not at all. The last vampire arrive while we were, ah, somewhat busy. I didn't think it worth pointing out until now."

"Well, then. Let's go penetrate some vampires with our wood."

"Could you possibly, do you think, have chosen a worse phrase?"

Peter grins.

"Nope. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are, far as I can tell, a couple of people reading this who didn't read my last Peter/Aro(/and Lucian) fic, and you might not be super into the shortly following plot development. This, however, will not stop me because I've had the next bit planned since I started this fic at least two whole weeks ago. Ages. A year ago, technically. Anyway. Vampires are cold and that has some, to me, very funny side effects.


	16. Blaidd Da

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro meets an old acquaintance

The vampire has Peter pressed into the wall, holding the hand that's holding the stake against the wall.

"Little help here, Aro?" 

"You are doing very well," Aro assures him from where he is leaning against the wall nonchalantly. 

"I meant practical help, not moral support!" Peter shouts, his arm wedged between his vulnerable throat and the vampires fanged maw.

He can't see it, but he can almost _feel_ him smile and shrug. Bastard. The vampire's teeth snaps, almost grazing his arm, and Peter manages with his free hand to slip a small knife from his pocket and drive it in between the vampire's ribs. It doesn't do any serious damage, of course, but it loosens its grip enough in suprise that Peter manages to wriggle free, shoving the vampire away.

"Stake!" He yells, and manages through a minor miracle to catch the one Aro tosses to him.

"Hey fucker, let's dance."

This would have been slightly cooler had the vampire not immediately pounced on him, knocking him to the ground. He gasps for breath, stunned for a moment by the pain, the absolute terror he feels, but Aro is busy, he can hear it, new vampires having entered. That wasn't the plan. Fuck.

Drops of the vampire's saliva hit his face and his stomach churns. It's not a Jerry kind of vampire, but it is still inhuman looking, unnatural, and that is kind of better. Makes killing it easier. Emotionally, at least, not physically, not yet. He stabs at the vampire's side with his stake, but doesn't manage to penetrate its clothes, doesn't have the angle to put enough strength in it. He's almost convinced that he is going to die when the weight above him suddenly disappears.

Aro? He pushes himself up, but no. No, Aro is on the other side of the vast room, fighting the other vampires. The one that was on Peter, though, is currently busy being mauled by a giant wolf. Werewolf. Here, wolf. Far too close, wolf. The thing looks up from its prey, blood dripping from its mouth and exposing rows of far too big fangs. It snarls at him, dropping the twitching and barely still living (or undying) vampire, and padding closer to Peter. He scrambles backwards, but it is too close, it rears up, landing with a paw on Peter's chest, and though he hadn't managed to get to his feet, his head bounces painfully off the concrete, and his vision goes black for a moment.

"Good- good wolf," he tries, hands up in what is hopefully to wolves a placating gesture.

It growls at him, low and deep and terrifying, the vampire's blood and wolf slobber dripping down on Peter's nice, overpriced hoodie. He wonders whether the werewolf, like Aro, might respect that it's designer and 300$. Probably not. It leans close, the head almost the size of Peter's entire torso, it's eyes and fur coal black, and sniffs him. And it almost looks like it frowns, but then, with those vast eyebrow ridges, it probably always looks like that. Peter is terrified, now, as he was the last time (is this the same wolf or do they all look identical?), but this time he is fairly certain Aro will save him. And indeed-

"Lucian?"

The wolf's head whips up, turning to where Aro is standing, now closer and far more disheveled. It slowly steps away from Peter with a warning growl, and he backs up against the wall further, mouthing a silent what the fuck in Aro's direction. The vampire doesn't seem to notice, though, his eyes locked on the massive wolf between them. Even more massive now, as the wolf rises to its hind legs, towering over Aro. He looks at it in wonder and delight, which Peter feels is an odd way to look at a giant terrifying wolf monster.

"You live? I had news of your death nearly a decade ago. Oh, my sweet wolf."

Sweet wolf? What? What the fuck is going on here? Aro takes the wolf's vast head in his hands, guiding it down, pressing their foreheads together, planting a kiss on the creatures snout, lips coming away bloody. Gross. Even vampires don't enjoy the blood of other vampires, surely? The wolf seems to readily accept the affection, though.

"Will you change back for me?" Aro asks, but the wolf does not react at all.

"Lucian?"

The wolf doesn't seem to react to anything but his name, which Aro seems to think too, because he switches over to a language Peter doesn't even recognise, talking rapidly at it for a few moments, until the wolf- no. It doesn't attack him, not really. Is it? Is it embracing him? God, that's weird.

"Aro?" Peter asks, but the vampire gives him a look.

Clearly they're having a moment there. Aro continues to talk softly and quickly and incomprehensibly to the wolf, and after something like five minutes, the wolf begins to change. It's horrible. It's all bones cracking and shifting, pained growls turning into pitiful all too human sounding moans. The skull shifts and Peter turns away, only his empty stomach keeping him from thowing up. When he dares to look, there is a man in the wolf's place, his skin filthy and pale and covered in blood. His hair is long and dark, hanging in tangles down his back. His beard is black with blood, and he looks at Aro with freaky, inhuman pale blue eyes. They don't even seem to have a pupil, looking horrible and haunted and empty when he glances at Peter.

He is thin, but clearly still strong, though he sinks to his knees before Aro. The vampire kneels next to him, unfastening the cloak he had kept on despite his earlier statement, and wrapping it around the wolf's shoulders. Presses a kiss to human wolf's grimy forehead.

"Te iubesc, lupul meu," Aro murmurs, slowly enough that Peter manages to catch the sounds. 

He still can't identify the language, though. The wolf puts a hand on Aro's cheek, his hand covered in blood, his nails long and sharp and almost claws. He looks, fortunately, far less scary and as if he is about to eat Peter in this form, but he is still quite intimidating, even as he looks moments from collapse.

"Do you mind," Peter asks, as Aro is quiet for a moment, "explaining exactly what the fuck is going on?"

Aro glares at him, actually glares, and Peter feels a sting of upset. Does Aro care more for this random wolf than for him? Granted, clearly they know each other, but still. 

"This is Lucian," Aro explains, as if Peter couldn't have guessed that much, "he is an old friend, whom I up until now had thought had been killed."

"Right. Right, sorry. Only he did attack me."

"You're wearing silver," Aro points out, nodding to the collection of holy symbols on chains around Peter's neck, "lycans tend to interpret that as a threat."

Lycans? Slang for lycanthropes? Must be, because this is definitely a werewolf.

"Okay, that's, I guess, understandable."

"He is coming with us," Aro adds.

Peter wants to argue, but he can see in Aro's eyes that this is not something on which Peter gets to have an opinion. So he hesitates, but nods. Gets up and gets a stake and takes out the still writhing vampire on the floor, watching as it collapses into dust.

They make their way to the car, Aro's cloak fortunately big enough to cover the naked wolf man. Aro eases the wolf- ease Lucian into the back seat. He sits there, motionless, pale eyes staring, mouth hanging slightly open to reveal fangs. Do they not turn properly human? Peter will have to ask Aro later. 

As Peter starts the car, Aro receives a call, and speaks in rapid Italian. He seems agitated, and Peter doesn't want to interrupt him to ask where he's going, so he automatically starts to drive home. Aro will have to tell him otherwise, or take the car and drive Lucian wherever he is going afterwards. The passenger in the back seat stares emptily, as if half comatose. Peter wonders what has happened to him.

"I have to leave," Aro announces as they drive into the subterranean parking garage.

"What?"

"There is something going on in Volterra, at home, and I have to leave at once. You will have to take care of Lucian."

"What?!" Peter demands with significantly more emphasis, following up with "fuck no!"

"Peter."

There is heavy threat in his voice, his eyes dark. There is danger in his face. 

"I- but why? Why can't he take care of himself?"

"Look at him, Peter, I cannot get him to talk, can't get him to understand anything in English. Which I know he rspeaks perfectly, but he only responds at all to his native Romanian."

"Hate to break it to you Aro, but I do not fucking speak Romanian."

"You will find a way. I trust you. And I care deeply for Lucian, I cannot just leave him, but I also cannot bring him back with me. Lycans are not... popular with most vampires."

"Fuck. Fucking fuck." 

Peter lets his head thump against the steering wheel.

"Fine," he agrees, defeated, "I'll do it. But you'll come up, right, help me explain."

Aro sighs, running his hand through his still inexplicably perfect hair, messing it up.

"Yes, all right. It will take an hour or so to have the jet ready anyway."

"You have a jet. Course you have a jet. Christ. One day you're sitting down amd telling me what the fuck your life actually is, yeah?"

All he receives is a distracted nod. Aro gets out, and gently, so very gently, guides the seemingly semiconscious werewolf out of the car, and Peter gets his gear, following them up. They don't meet anyone on the way, luckily, because Lucian is quite obviously naked beneath the cloak. 

Aro talks calmly to Lucian in what is apparently Romanian, guiding him into the spare room, the room that Ginger used to use when she had had enough of Peter (this happened, quite understandably, at least twice a week), which Peter didn't realise Aro knew where was. Maybe he snuck around the whole place one of the times he lurked, waiting for Peter. Probably did.

Lucian lets himself be placed on the bed there, where he sits, staring emptily. Aro looks quite worried for him, which Peter understand. The man looks like a zombie, blood included.

"Just- just let him be? But make sure he gets something to eat. Meat, preferably, wolves being carnivores. Find him some clothes, try to suggest he wash off some of this blood, perhaps."

"Yup."

"And I am sure you can find some sort of application that can translate for you. And I- please take care of him, Peter, and update me."

The sincerity and emotion in his voice, his face, it makes Peter feel bad. Bad enough that for a moment, his minds this massive scary wolf babysitting task slightly less. It won't last, though. But for now.

He watches as Aro kisses Lucian's forehead again, strokes his filthy hair. Repeats that phrase Peter doesn't understand. Then he lets Aro follow him out into the hall of weapons.

"You told him I'm human, right? And not to eat me?"

"They typically don't eat humans."

"That is not as reassuring as you might think," Peter tells him, voice rising.

"He is very kind," Aro assures him, "he will not harm you. I promise."

"Right. Fucking hope so."

"I promise," Aro tells him, and wraps him in his arms.

Peter melts into it, pressing his face into Aro's neck and wondering whether the appearance of Lucian has made him more possessive of Aro. Has tricked him into feeling fonder of the vampire. But if he is honest with himself he has for a long time.

"How long will you be gone?"

"I cannot know for sure. I will let you know, and keep into contact. Hopefully not more than a few weeks."

"Weeks?"

"Yes. Weeks. I am sorry, Peter. This was unfortunate timing."

Peter sighs into Aro's hair, squeezing him once more before pulling back enough to lean in and kiss him. He tastes blood on his lips.

"You will be fine," Aro tells him again.

He presses a kiss to Peter's cheek. Peter holds him close for amother moment, lets the vampire kiss his hair.

"I'll miss you," Peter murmurs into the fabric of his suit, and feels at once mortified.

"And I you," Aro tells him, and leaves.

Peter watches the lift go down, and walks back into the flat proper. Looks into the room where Lucian is still sitting, staring.

"Right then. Let's get you back to your normal wolfy self."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if theselast chapters are messy, been writing these on my phone at work and need instant validation so do not beta


	17. Wolf Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets to know his new house guest

The growling is loud, jarring and constant. It reaches him wherever he goes in the penthouse, like a constant reminder, driving him slightly mad. Even as he pays the delivery person, music turned up to cover the suspicious noises, it continues. He can feel it.

He brings the food in, setting his own in the kitchen, and taking the other to the door. The dreaded door. He knocks, and there is renewed growling, louder than before, the sound of a clawed paw against the door.

“I bring food,” he types into google translate, and presses the button to have the translation read out in the weird, curly sounding language. Aduc mâncare. “Steak,” he adds. Friptura, the tinny voice says.

The scratching stops, and the growling goes lower. So, at least he understands something. Peter edges the door open, and sets the steaming container of food down on the dresser, which is the only surface he can reach. Lucian, huge and wolf shaped, is curled in on himself in what looks suspiciously like the pose of a cat ready to pounce. He growls at Peter again, showing off his fangs.

“Yeah, mate, I get it,” he says, not bothering with the translation, “you’re big and scary. Still not allowed to kill me, okay. Bone appetite.”

The wolf growls once more, as if angered by his deliberately poor French pronunciation, or possibly the dog joke. No, that’s got to be his imagination. Carefully, keeping eye contact with the wolf, he closes the door. A few moments later he hears the distinct sounds of sharp teeth ripping away tin foil. Fucking wolf. Fucking Aro. Fucking weird ass life.

Returning to the kitchen he gets his own food, brings it to the living room, and puts something stupid and American on the TV as he eats. Lucian has been here for three days now. As far as Peter can tell, he has been a wolf almost the entire time, having transformed at some point during the first night. Granted, he must have been human at least once, because when Peter went to take a shower this morning he found long, brown hairs in the drain, and also a pervasive smell of wet dog. And so much of his stupidly expensive shampoo and conditioner was gone. Bastard.

After he’s finished his food, and two bottles of overpriced imported beer, he gets his ipad out and skypes Aro. The vampire, however, doesn’t pick up. Bastard, also. No. Probably he’s busy with whatever the fuck he’s doing in Italy.

_Yo, need advice on The Wolfman. Pls call when u can._

He barely keeps himself from adding a kissy emoji. Because even after just three days, he misses the stupid sexy vampire. They haven’t usually seen each other that often, rarely as much as once a week, in fact, although slightly more frequently the last two months or so. But it’s the knowledge that he will be gone for ages that bothers Peter. That, and the massive burden with no set time he’s left him with. And look, it’s not as if Peter isn’t sympathetic. Clearly Lucian is very important to Aro, and when he stops being an aggressive wolf, maybe Peter will understand why, but that still doesn’t negate the fact that Peter isn’t in any fucking way equipped to take care of a giant werewolf with some kind of trauma induced specific amnesia.

He realises that the growling hasn’t started up again. Maybe that means the growling was complaining he’s hungry? It’s possible that a giant wolf needs larger quantities of food than an actual regular human person. Maybe he should order a couple of carcasses from a butcher or something. Or a couple of like, sheep legs or something. That is a thing humans sometimes order. He thinks. A quick search lets him order half a lamb to get delivered tomorrow. Grim. But probably up Wolfman’s alley.

The skype call noise sounds half an hour later, and Peter almost falls off the sofa in an effort to answer as soon as possible, but not before turning off the TV.

“Hey! Aro. Hey,” he says, trying to look chill and casual.

“Peter. How are things?”

The background is what looks like the upper part of a very fancy gothic chair, in front of a marble wall. It’s bright, not direct sunlight, of course, because he isn’t lit up like he took a dive in body glitter, but it’s clearly daytime. Hmm. Good thing Aro doesn’t sleep, because Peter has no idea what the time difference is.

“Eeh. Your good boy is still all wolfy. Quite growly, too. Not responding great to my attempts at talking to him. I think maybe the app is scrambling the sentences a bit. Or he doesn’t give a shit.”

Aro looks thoughtful. There is a slight shimmer to his skin, visible even through the not spectacular resolution of his camera. He looks distracted, tired almost, although Peter isn’t sure he is even capable of being tired.

“I worry for him. I think, perhaps, that what has happened is that he has, for whatever reason, been only in his wolf shape for a very long time. In hiding, perhaps.”

“Sorry, what? A giant bipedal wolf creature is less subtle than a normal human looking man? Even if he looks like a homeless person?”

Aro gives him a look.

“There is a lot of nature in the Americas, Peter. Dense, remote forests where a wolf, one who can hear and smell humans terribly far off, might hide. It is not inconceivable, and one is much less likely to been seen on the myriad of methods of surveillance present today.”

“Why would he hide?”

“It’s, ah, somewhat of a long story. But his species, the lycans, were in a centuries long war with a species of vampires, and back in 2003 I had word that this war had culminated in a sort of battle, in which Lucian was one of the casualties. He was, after all, their leader.”

“Course he was. Right, so you think he barely escaped death and ran away to America to be a secret wolf, then?”

“It is merely a theory. His thoughts, memories, they were unclear, but I saw his being a wolf, hunting, snow capped mountains. So it is my assumption that something akin to that has happened, yes.”

“Because why wouldn’t you read his mind.”

“You’re offended on his behalf, now?”

“Well, he can’t be, he’s all wolf brain, yeah?”

Aro sighs, and readjusts whatever device he is using for his video conferencing purposes, the image jostling and going pixelated for a moment.

“He still has his mind in wolf form, Peter. It might not seem like that now, but he does. He has merely grown… unused to humanoid contact, I believe. Please- please be patient with him.”

Peter groans.

“Yeah, I will. Promise. How are things in…?”

“Volterra, Peter.”

“Right. That place. Everything all right?”

“No. There are… difficulties to deal with. A group of vampires who want to reveal our presence to the humans, and who are proving a dreadful nightmare to deal with.”

“Ah. Yep. I can see why that would be bad.”

“You agree?”

“Oh yeah. My life has been far worse for the knowledge, on the whole. No offence to you personally, but on average? It’s been a bad fucking time, even without the years of therapy making me think I fucking imagined or hallucinated watching my mum and dad get murdered. I don’t think it would be good for anyone. I mean, look at True Blood. Total disaster there.”

“True what?”

“Uh. Book series. About vampires announcing they’re real. And werewolves and telepaths and maenads and shit. And human telepaths dating both werewolves and vampires, which I used to think was a bad choice, but hey, not much moral high-ground left now, I suppose.”

“Ah.”

“Point is, I see your problem. And I do understand the necessity, even if it sucks you need to be there right now. Sure it would be better for Lucian too, having someone he knows taking care of him, rather than some random human person.”

“I agree. Though I think, by now, that enough of my scent lingers for him to sense. Which I hope is somewhat of a reassurance.”

“Hmm. Not sure how I feel about that.”

“No? You don’t want some reminder of my presence?”

“It’s less fun when it’s not something I can sense too. Although it does look like he’s been sleeping with your cloak as a pillow, so there might be something to it.”

There is the subtlest softening of Aro’s features at that, and Peter wants to ask again exactly what his and Lucian’s relationship was. But he doesn’t. He suspects the answer, and if he is right he doesn’t want confirmation. Because then he’s taking care of Aro’s furry ex, and that’s a bit too much to deal with for him yet.

“That is good. And, of course, he can hear my voice now, which might help.”

“Really? I’m two rooms away, and you’re not on that high volume.”

“Lycans have incredibly good hearing, Peter. He could hear it even if you wore headphones.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Do not worry. We, well, all creatures who can hear that well, are perfectly used to all the noises humans make and don’t notice.”

The corners of his moth quirk up, just a little, and Peter wonders once more whether his telepathy reaches further than he says, because he adds:

“Even that.”

Peter deeply regrets masturbating earlier today if this is true. That’s not something the werewolf needs to be overhearing.

“And how are you, my dear?”

“Eh, you know. Scared that the big wolf in my flat is gonna eat me in my sleep. Upset because the sexy vampire has left me alone. Struggling to come up with a pitch that won’t make the money people cancel my show.”

“I think,” Aro says, very seriously, in a completely level voice, “that you could solve one of those problems by putting your dildos in the refrigerator for a little while.”

Peter burst out laughing, relieved. Aro is smiling, smug but also genuine, just a little soft.

“I’ll, uh, consider that, yeah,” Peter replies, wiping moisture from the corner of his eye.

“Are people not so interested in your playing pretend vampire hunter any more?”

“Apparently not. Fucker’s can’t appreciate art.”

“Art?”

“You haven’t seen it, you don’t get to judge.”

“Very well. I will attempt to, when I return. If it’s still running.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Then I look forward to it. But I must leave now. Please give my love to Lucian. And take care of yourself, Peter.”

“I’ll try. You-“

But Aro looks away from the screen, halfway into replying to someone off screen, and clicks the call off.”

“Too,” Peter finishes.

-

“Mr. Vincent?”

“Whuh?”

Peter, who has forgotten he was expecting anyone, jumps. Tears out his headphones and looks up, to see his assistant stand by the door, having appeared like some fucking sneaky vampire.

“Christ, knock, will you? Scare a man to death.”

“I.. did. Repeatedly. And I called you. And we agreed on a time.”

“Shit. Right. Sorry. And please, again, call me Peter.”

“Okay, Mr. Peter.”

“I- fine, close enough.”

They are young, quite enthusiastic and eager in their job, and honestly Peter wishes they were a little bit more laid back. Still, he needs someone to keep him on track, which is like, their whole job. He sits up a little straighter, closing out his research tabs. They’re all on werewolves.

“You got the documents and shit?”

“Yes. All here, alphabetised.”

They’re in a binder, of course they are. All the numbers and analytics on why Peter is a miserable failure, as if his brain can’t provide vivid versions of that on its own.

“Right,” Peter says, draining his coffee, “let’s do this.”

“Yes. If you see, I have categorised these by-“

The kid (perhaps unfair, they’re at least twenty-four he’s pretty sure) spends a good twenty minutes explaining exactly where Peter falls short, entertainment-wise. Peter zones out quite quickly, which isn’t ideal, but god it’s boring.

“So,” interjects after a while, “we’re sure including werewolves isn’t a good idea?”

“Same problem as with vampires, I fear. They are going out of fashion, a bit. Too similar.”

“Then maybe, what we really need to do, is get the people of Nevada to go more goth. Goths love vampires. And nerds. Probably a sizeable overlap, I think. What about… What about trained bats? People like shit like that.”

“Live animals do do well,” they agree with some hesitation, “but bats are the worst idea. No offence, Mr. Vincent. They are almost all dark, small, and hard to train. Hardly ideal stage animals.”

“Hmm. Right. Fine. But, okay, werewolves. You can get, like, wolf dogs, that look the real thing. Like they had in. Uh. That big fantasy incest thing from last year. Throne Games?”

“I suppose that is- What was that?”

The that was definitely a low growl from Lucian. Shit. He really ought to have insisted they meet somewhere else. But look, the last couple days have been a lot, right? And reminding him he has appointments and shit is his assistant’s job, he can’t be expected to remember that shit on his own.

“Err. Nothing. Noisy neighbours.”

“But- This is a penthouse. There aren’t any neighbours, that’s the point.”

“Right. Downstairs people. Meant those.”

There is another growl, louder, and scratching at the door.

“That’s definitely coming from inside the apartment.”

“Uh. Fine. I’m watching a dog for a friend. And it’s not real happy about it.”

The assistant lights up.

“Oh! Can I meet it?”

“Nope. Big, big bad dog. Angry. Doesn’t like strangers.”

“Oh, well, I grew up with my family rehabilitating dogs used in dog fighting, I’ll be fine,” they say, getting up, and Peter scrambles to his feet, cutting them off.

“No! No. All right. Okay. I lied. It’s. Well, mate of mine. Into some weird shit. Trading exotic animals, which yes, I agree, terrible, but I owe him some cash, quite- quite a lot, actually. And, uh. He had a wolf, proper wolf, needed watching for a couple days. And it’s in the spare room, and not very happy about it. Wouldn’t go in there. Thing’ll bite your hand off, probably. Lovely creatures, but this one’s quite aggressive.”

“Well, I suppose it’s not illegal, so-“

“What? It’s not illegal to have a fucking wolf?”

“No?”

“Christ. America’s pretty fucking messed up.”

“As you say.”

“It is! Why would you need to own a wolf?”

“You were just now considering getting wolf dogs for your show.”

“Yeah, wolf dogs. Trainable ones. More dog than wolf. ‘S different. Bit different.”

“Okay,” they agree, clearly not wanting to argue with him.

“Anyway. We’ll continue this another day, yeah?”

“But-“

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll meet and talk in the bar downstairs. Couple hours before my show. You work out a time and let me know, yeah?” he insists, walking the confused assistant out the door, pointedly guiding them to the private lift.

He sighs in relief when they’re gone. Leans against the wall for a moment, before going to the bar to pour himself a drink. Then he sits down next to the door outside the guest room. There are faint sounds from within.

“You have to be a nuisance, huh?” he asks, taking a drink and resting his head against the cool wall, “well, so do I, so I can’t really blame you. Bit bloody inconvenient, though. My assistant thinks I’m hiding exotic animals. Which is pretty dodgy, but also not that far from the truth. Not- not that I’m calling you an animal, of course. Only you do look like one.”

The door creaks, and Peter jumps, looking up to see it opening. He expects human Lucian to emerge, but he’s still wolf shaped. Those hands retain enough fine motor function to opens doors, apparently, even the funny American ones with circular knobs. The wolf pads out, still on all fours, and curls up on the floor, a foot or so away from Peter.

“Oh. Hey. We’re hanging out now? That’s- I think that’s good. Are you good? Well, not much of a talker in this shape, I suppose. Well, that’s all right. I’m pretty good at filling the silence. Just, uh, growl or something if you want me to shut up, yeah? Use your- well, not your words. Your voice and not your many and sharp claws and fangs?”

The wolf looks at him with a single completely black eye.

“That sounds like you agree. I’m not sure how you’re doing, languagewise, but I’m not typing all this out, all right? Nu scrie- scri- It’s something starting with scri. Scrisoare? No, that’s- that’s related. Anyway. Aro says hi. Tells you he wishes he could be here. But you heard, I guess. That’s what he tells me. Sorry, by the way. Probably overhear things you don’t want to hear. Including the reality TV. No good excuses for that, really.”

The wolf sighs one of those heavy dog sighs. Perhaps a commentary on whether Peter is saying anything interesting.

“Aro says you’ve been hanging out in the forest for years, being all wolfy. Is that true? In that case, I don’t blame you for being a bit off. Just, long as you don’t expose anyone here to the supernatural being real I’m cool with it. I’ll try not to have people over, know that’s a bad idea. No need to make this more difficult than it has to be. And dude, I get it. Being able to stop being part of humanity feels tempting sometimes.”

The wolf shifts, moving just a fraction closer. Peter wants, despite himself, to pet him. Which is incredibly weird, because he is a mostly human person, and you don’t do that. But he looks quite fluffy. Quite weird, too. Not all that wolflike, to be honest. There’s no tail. The head and neck are oversized, and the snout all blunt and rounded, not like a wolf’s at all. Ears strange and twisted and nearly hairless, the skin beneath looking dark grey and leathery.

“You got to tell me, yeah? When you’re a bit more yourself. More, uh, human shaped, maybe. About what’s going on. Maybe about werewolves too?”

Lucian growls.

“Lycanthropes? Lycans? Not great on the terminology yet my dude, sorry. Not to hunt! Not to hunt. No beef with werewolves, long as they don’t go round eating people. Actually I’m not so certain on the vampire hunting either these days, if I’m honest. Aro’s making me question a lot of shit. Because, right, and I’m sure you’ll agree, he’s a person, right? As, presumably, are you, and most vampires and werewolves. And if vampires can choose not to be horrible, then I maybe shouldn't go round all vigilante like, right? Then that’s pretty messed up. And- I don’t know. What do you think?”

He drains his glass, looking at the very large werewolf with raised eyebrows. Lucian looks back at him blankly.

“Right. A wolf of few words.”

Lucian shifts again, long claws scraping against the stone floor. His hands are strange. Still arguably hand like, but with claws rather than nails, fingers long and slightly crooked. Creepy looking. But when he turns one up to scratch at a spot on his neck, Peter can see soft little pads, like a cat’s foot. Huh. Neat.

“Suppose what with everything happening in my life I’d be safer not pissing off any more spooky supernatural people, eh? Yeah.”

He stays sitting on the floor next to the wolf, and gets out his phone, scrolling through twitter for a bit, arguing with random people about pointless things, getting angry. But still, really, hanging out with Lucian. Quietly. It’s day, still, and his day off, and he doesn’t really know what to do, so getting to know his guest, as much, anyway, as is doable, is probably the most productive thing he can do.

“You know, when you’re not growling at me or walking around like a human shaped zombie you’re pretty chill,” he tells the wolf, who stares blankly at him for a moment before lowering his head to rest on his hand paws again.

“Right. Okay. We’ll work on the communication.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still only at like level 1 in Romanian and yes, I will make that your problem. I just enjoy languages, okay. Lupul este bun.


	18. Progress?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress.

Peter scrolls through twitter, trying to _engage with fans_ in a _positive manner_ to try to _encourage ticket sales_ , which is his task today. He hates it. People on twitter are terrible. So, arguably, is he when he is on twitter, but that isn’t making him feel any better about it. Any attempt of being genuine is met with hundred of sarcastic replies asking whether he’s hired someone to tweet for him, and this is infuriating both because of the insult, but also because Peter hadn’t thought to delegate it. Whenever he gets bored he sneaks glances at the conversation happening at the other end of the room. Aro is on skype, talking to a wolfy Lucian, whose dark eyes seem locked on the image of the vampire, who is talking again in Romanian. Lucian is, no doubt, shedding onto Peter’s nice, light grey sofa. Bad Wolf.

It is day five of his wolfish visitor. Peter is tired, frustrated, and really wishing he had someone or something to take it out on, because right now he is channelling all of it inwards, which isn’t helping at all, no matter how much alcohol he tries to displace it with. He wants to use his flat, or to leave it, but there’s a handful of people who have access, and so he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving, other than his shows. Not until Lucian is better, more human, more in control. Because having a homeless looking guy who doesn’t speak English in his flat is one thing, a great big clearly supernatural wolf something else entirely.

Lucian whines, and scrapes a claw across the screen of Peter’s iPad.

“Oi! Tell your wolf friend to be careful with my tech,” Peter yells at the screen, though Aro would probably hear even if he spoke normally.

There is a pause, before he hears more soft and incomprehensible speaking. Peter can’t help, not really, feeling a little bit jealous. Who wouldn’t? His, whatever Aro is to him, only cares about his, well, whatever Lucian is to Aro. An ex? A friend? They must have been close, given how much Aro cares for his well being. And how long ago? Lucian looks to be Peter’s age, and to his knowledge werewolves don’t stop ageing, so if he, well, if he generously is a couple of years older than Peter, and Aro knew him more than a decade ago? He’ll have to get to the bottom of this.

“Peter?” Aro’s tinny voice asks, “will you come over here?”

Peter makes a noise, and manages to rearrange his limbs into a standing pose, walking over to the sofa and crouching next to where Lucian lies, his arm brushing against his fur. It feels less soft than he had imagined.

“Sorry, mate,” he mutters to the wolf, who does not react, and turns to Aro.

He is in actual sunlight, now, in what seems like some sort of enclosed courtyard lined with potted olive and citrus trees. Peter can see a little bird of some kind hopping around in the background. Aro is half in shade, a gently waving pattern of sun moving across his face, as if the shadow is provided by leaves being gently moved about by a gentle breeze. The slight movement of his hair makes this more likely. The camera, however, doesn’t deal well with the shifting sparkly light.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Peter. How are things going?”

“I mean, better, as you can see. Lucian’s come out a bit more. Still largely wolf shaped, but less growly. We’re getting to know each other a bit more, yeah?”

He directs this last at the Lucian, who glances at him, though his very large lupine face is unreadable.

“Which is good, I think, his being more social, yeah? I don’t know a lot about were- about lycans, but from what I’ve read about wolves they’re not meant to be lonely. Pack animals, right?”

“Yes,” Aro agrees, “and his pack has been lost. Which is probably part of- part of everything.”

“You coming back soon?” Peter asks, his voice coming out a bit more pleading than he intended.

“As soon as I am able, I promise. But there is much to do here yet, I fear, and I need to be here for it. I know I ask a lot of you, but I am very grateful, Peter.”

“’S fine,” he mutters, unsettled by Aro’s warm and genuine tone, shamed into facing this challenge without complaint, “Lucian’s all right. Not very talkative yet.”

“No,” Aro replies, looking amused, “I can see that. But he seems better. I have faith in you, Peter, that you will be able to help.”

Peter makes a vague noise, unable to think of a good response to this declaration of trust. Ducks his head, looks away for a moment.

“I have to leave, now, but thank you, both of you. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Yeah. You too, with the whole… whatever you’re doing. You’re gonna have to explain all this stuff when you get back.”

“I will. Be well, both of you.”

The screen goes black, and Lucian whines. Peter sits down on the floor, his back leaning against the sofas.

“He’ll come back eventually. Probably. But I agree. Bit of a dick move, leaving us here, you’re right.”

He jumps at the feeling of a clawed hand on his shoulder, claws catching on the distressed fabric of his t-shirt. Lucian doesn’t seem to be doing anything more sinister than trying to offer comfort, though.

“Thanks.”

-

On day eight, Lucian emerges from the guest room on two legs. Two human legs, that is, the wolf form can be bipedal too, after all. He’s dressed in some of the assorted joggers and sweats and t-shirts Peter had left in the room, though not, Peter notices, any of the ones that are his merch. Rude. He looks better now, than he did that first night. His eyes are normal and human, a sort of warm greenish brown, rather than the odd oversized pale iris he had before. His hair looks better too, less tangled, without any dried blood, though it still looks distinctly messy.

“Oh, hey human Lucian,” Peter says, because after eight days hanging out with a wolf he has forgotten how you talk to people.

Lucian nods at him, but doesn’t reply.

“You want coffee?” Peter asks, but Lucian just looks confused.

Peter makes the universal sign for one moment please, and goes out to the kitchen to make them some. He likes coffee, right? Everyone does. Granted, you shouldn’t give caffeine to dogs, but he can have it while he’s human shaped probably yeah? He brings some out to him, handing the lost looking man the steaming cup.

“Mersi.”

That sounds distinctly like the French for thanks, so Peter assumes this is what he means. It is also the first thing he has heard the man say, he realises. The man’s voice is hoarse, presumably with disuse, although he has been doing a lot of growling. Perhaps the wolf vocal chords and human vocal chords are different?

“You doing better?” Peter asks, then types it into google translate and presses the pronunciation button.

Lucian frowns at Peter’s phone, then nods. He looks at Peter questioningly, indicating his phone.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Peter asks, nudging the phone over.

While Lucian has forgotten most of the English language for the time being, he seems to grasp smart phone technology quickly, which is impressive if he has been a wolf since before the flip phone was the peak of mobile technology. Before touch screens, even. Huh. He does, admittedly, accidentally open facebook and needs Peter to get him back to the translation programme.

“Why has where the vampires?” the little voice finally asks.

Peter frowns. If that’s how the sentences he has translated for Lucian sounds he does not blame the guy for not understanding much. He indicates his confusion.

“How knows the vampire you?” Lucian manages with google’s distinctly unhelpful help after a few moments, and this is a bit more understandable.

“He hired me to hunt vampires,” Peter types in, “and we became friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Sort of? Friends-ish. Friends with benefits?”

This seems in translation to make slightly less sense. Or maybe it’s his explanation. Or maybe it’s that Peter and Aro fucked about an hour before they found Lucian, and that he is doubting Peter’s definition of friend activities. Actually that seems to be fair.

“Is Aro right?” Peter types in, “have you been a wolf for a long time?”

Lucian listens to the translation, and nods.

“Why?”

Lucian doesn’t reply. He drinks the coffee, looking lost in thought. Peter isn’t sure whether the language or the concepts are the issue. He looks oddly familiar, in a way Peter can’t quite pinpoint. Something about the angle of his nose, the shape of his eyes. He is quite handsome, in a sort of rough, dishevelled way, which he supposes is fitting for a werewolf, even one wearing a 120$ t-shirt (Peter got it free, but the point still stands).

“Scared,” Lucian says, in English that is both perfect and oddly accented, his voice unsure.

He doesn’t, Peter notes, possibly having been looking at his mouth, seem to have fangs any more. His nails, too, are blunt and entirely human now. Perhaps it is somewhat of an in-between stage, allowing one to mostly pass for human, but not quite? He will have to ask when he regains some more of his English, or Peter manages to learn enough Romanian to get to complex sentences. Peter has a pretty certain bet on what will happen first, given his progress so far.

“Scared of what?” Peter asks, in the hope that Lucian will understand.

Lucian opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, looking frustrated. Glances at the phone where it lies still open. He types for a little while, erases everything, and then puts it down, just a little aggressively.

“’S all right, you don’t have to answer. Good just that you’re less wolf shaped. You want to call Aro again? You feel ready to actually talk with him now?”

Lucian hesitates, then shakes his head. Which, all right. He clearly understands more English than he’s managing to use, that’s good.

“No worries. I’ll text him, though. Let him know you’re more… human? Is that okay?”

Lucian doesn’t answer, so Peter types it into the translation software. Lucian still seems unsure, but eventually nods. Maybe it is a lot different listening to someone talk to you from a safe distance where they can’t see your mind, as opposed to actually talking to them. Peter thinks he can understand that.

_Hey. Wolfman is more man than wolf now. Communication still bit challenging. Will call u when he feels ready 4 talking. Xoxo (vampire emoji, wolf emoji, human man emoji)_

The answer, when it comes mere minutes later, is lengthy, and includes a whole paragraph in Romanian, so Peter hands the phone to Lucian, whose face gets very close to an actual smile by the time he has finished reading.

They work out that a lot can be communicated with gestures when language fails. Like questions about whether there is more coffee, and also that the gun with silver bullets is just for show. Lucian, perhaps naturally, gets quite fascinated with Peter’s collection of weapons, but seems to dislike the amount of silver he keeps. Peter has to try multiple means of communication to assure him that no, Peter does not hunt werewolves, he just collects a wide variety of supernatural hunting gear.

Lucian stays out most of the remainder of the night, accepting Peter’s offering of food, and seeming amused at Peter’s insisting on putting on The Wolfman with Romanian texting (a challenge to find, takes Peter a good half hour to track down on a myriad of piracy sites). Peter isn’t entirely sure that this isn’t offensive to werewolves, but Lucian doesn’t seem to mind too much, other than to mutter what Peter can only assume is complaints at inaccuracies at the screen now and again. Yeah. Yeah. Things are definitely going better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added an illustration of the last part of the previous chapter which ought, perhaps, to be posted there, but I drew it after posting, and then by the time I finished it AO3 was down. Apologies about the size of the picture I never know how to format these properly. It was this or like thumbnail size for some reason.


	19. Walkies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian gets Stressed Out and Peter learns Unfortunate Information

“You want to go out?” Peter asks, physically restraining himself from using the word walk or making any kind of dog based joke.

He will, probably, later, but for right now it’s not that long ago Lucian was very large and scary and threatening him. Granted lately he’s been hanging out with Peter more, which is nice. Largely while wolf shaped, which is odd, but it does make the communication easier, in the sense that it doesn’t happen. He will mostly hang out, seemingly sleeping, on Peter’s sofa while Peter watches TV. Maybe it helps, just listening to the language a lot. Or he just gets lonely, and this is the easiest way to hang out for him too. It does make him think, though, about the fact that Lucian is hanging out with him while naked. Like yeah, he’s got fur, although it’s not quite so strategically placed as the fur of werewolves in films where they can’t be too explicit, but still. It’s weird. It’s weird because he’s a person. But then, he obviously couldn’t be wearing clothes, so it’s not as if there’s an alternative. Best, probably, not to think about it. Maybe get some washable blankets for the sofa.

Lucian, after some deliberation, nods. This presents several challenges. For one, though Peter’s clothes fit Lucian, if not particularly well, they definitely do not use the same shoe size. And while Lucian does not seem to find this problematic, probably due to not having had a need for shoes for about nine years, it would look a bit suspicious to walk around barefoot. He does eventually manage to find some flip flops, though. Admittedly it is still January, but they are in the desert, and so it is a comfortable fifteen degrees or so. Warm enough. Probably. It is a flip flop with socks sort of look, but Lucian does not seem to care. They’ll go by a shoe shop or something. It’s fine. He just looks medium weird. It’s progress.

They walk through the bright, sunlit streets, and from the way Lucian stares at everything Peter has the vague idea he’s not properly experienced Vegas before. Briefly he debates whether to bring him to a casino, but probably that’s a bad idea. For one thing he’s only got Peter’s money, not his own to lose. Nah. 

They stop by a shop and get him some cheap jogging shoes in the right size, and then Peter decides it’s time for a coffee break. Every walk needs a couple of coffee breaks, right? So he drags Lucian into the closest Starbucks, and gets them some iced coffees. It’s warm enough for that, right? Peter’s favourite barista is working (having earned this distinguished title by wearing a rainbow pin and also having asked Peter for his autograph the first time he came in. Peter is quite easy to flatter this way. And he prefers signing things to being in people’s shitty selfies. He likes having control over what photos of him are where), and winks very obviously at Peter in between glances at Lucian, who has gone to find them a table.

“Absolutely not,” Peter mouths at the barista, giving him a warning glare, because he knows what Lucian’s super hearing is like.

The café is quite crowded, so talk of anything supernatural is a pretty bad idea, even in foreign languages, given that Romanian for vampire is vampir, and frankly that’s not far enough away to be unrecognisable, even for native English speakers. Vârcolac for werewolf is a bit better, but still. Best to keep topics neutral. As much as they can be, anyway. 

Lucian seems a bit twitchy in here, but maybe he’s just not used to being in human crowds yet. Well, this can count as exposure therapy. That’s a thing, isn’t it? So Peter tries to distract gently by asking about Aro.

“Have you known him long?”

Lucian shrugs.

“Some time. Not long for him.”

The English is getting better, more useable now. It seems to be coming back to him quite quickly, given how long he’s gone not speaking at all. There are some odd sentence structures still, some words that aren’t quite right, but it’s pretty comprehensible.

“No, wouldn’t be, would it. Ancient fucker. How’d you two meet?”

Lucian takes his time to think over the answer, or possibly to formulate it. He has tied his hair partially back, and trimmed his beard to something more reasonable than it was, and Peter is forced to acknowledge what Aro sees in him. He’s quite handsome, when he’s not all wolfy. And Peter has to admit, although not out loud, that his wolf shape is quite ugly, at least compared to actual wolves. Properly monstrous, which, okay, fine, Peter appreciates. Like a vampire being classy enough to wear only black and red and have capes. Keeping to their aesthetic, although presumably it’s less purposeful for Lucian.

“He… was on the opposing side in a conflict. Long ago. Them against us. His side helping… helping my enemies. Everything was- was stopped. By humans. Ah-” he pauses, looks around, “other humans, I mean.”

“Good save,” Peter tells him with just medium sarcasm.

The man is trying. He is also grimacing at the flavour of the coffee, and Peter is forced to recognise that perhaps not everyone shares his own predilection for ridiculous syrup combinations in coffee. But honestly who doesn’t enjoy a triple shot vanilla hazelnut iced latte? Maybe it’s the oat milk. It is an acquired taste. Or maybe the caffeine isn’t agreeing with him after a year of abstaining.

“And they forced some of us, stranded, to- talk.”

“Like a ceasefire?”

“Yes. They, not many, were allies of our enemies, not- not enemies?”

“So, Aro not super loyal to his bloodsucking mates, then? Strike up a conversation for fun?”

“Like this, yes. We… fascinated him.”

“Yeah, I can see that. He seems a bit… detached, doesn’t he. And, if you don’t mind if I ask, were you two ever… You know?”

Lucian, it seems, doesn’t not know, at least judging by his confused face. He seems to be remembering more of the language the more they talk, but probably less direct wording is the last to arrive. Lucian’s attention, also, doesn’t seem to be all there, eyes darting back and forth occasionally, especially when anyone comes or leaves. Instinct, maybe.

“Lovers?” he elaborates.

“Ah,” Lucian says, “yes.”

“Ah. Right. I mean, don’t blame you, he’s surprisingly hot. Attractive.”

Which, this isn’t what Peter wanted to hear. Because suddenly being faced a lover one thought dead is very different from the same situation with a friend. All reignition of feelings. Emotions high, memories vivid. Newer flings forgotten. Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Whatever is between Aro and Peter? It’s nothing solid, no basis other than mutual attraction and mutual superficial friendship. And is that enough? To compete with old love? Probably not.

“It was a long time ago,” Lucian tells him gently, because apparently he’s too observant for his own good too. 

Maybe it’s a supernatural being thing. Either way, the thought of being so easily read pisses Peter off more than it soothes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because it is right, isn’t it?

It must be at least a decade ago. That’s ages, right? That’s long enough that they’re not going to reignite the relationship? Lucian, presumably, has gotten a lot older, even if Aro hasn’t. 

“You two are…?”

“Yup,” Peter agrees, “we are. Not sure exactly what we are, but we are… something.”

Which seems a bit confusing for Lucian, so Peter condenses his point into a concise and helpless shrug. That seems to get his point across. The werewolf looks quite sympathetic to this, and Peter wonders whether this sort of uncertainty, this feeling of not being prioritised is a common feature of being in a something with Aro.

“He is… complicated.”

“He is,” Peter agrees, “and strange. And not super forthcoming about his life after 500BC. And kind of mean. Arguably evil. Has no respect for the intrinsic value of human life. Unsure of his stance on lycan lives, to be honest. And sort of petty. And terrifying. Breaks into people’s homes and refuses to announce his intent to come over more than ten minutes before he arrives. Shows up in the middle of the night to tell you he wants you to kill vampires. Insults your very good vampire based show and costume.”

“You like him,” Lucian correctly concludes, “much.”

“Much,” Peter agrees with a sigh.

Maybe too much. It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it? Liking that guy so much he is spending all his time lately taking care of his ex. Not that Lucian doesn’t seem nice, and is clearly still in need of help, and Peter doesn’t really mind that bit, but he wishes he didn’t feel like he has to. Takes all the feeling good about himself out of it. He resents feeling like he owes Aro, and also his own not minding more than he does. Like he has been tricked, somehow, into feeling this way.

“It was the same. For me. With him. It took him long to tell me anything. About the Volturi, about his wife, about his life,” Lucian says, as if these were things that Peter is meant to know.

“He was married?”

“Was? Has Sulpicia been killed?”

Lucian seems genuinely shocked, and also quite uncomfortable. Which, given this fucking revelation, he is not wrong to.

“Who?”

“His wife.”

“Wait, sorry, the motherfucker is fucking married?”

“Ah,” says Lucian, “he has not told.”

“He has, in fact, not fucking told,” Peter says through gritted teeth in a frozen mockery of a smile.

“I am sorry.”

“Not your bloody fault is it. I am having fucking words with the man next time he calls, though. I mean, if the man wants an open marriage and his wife is into it then that’s one thing, but a guy deserves to know what sort of situation he’s getting into, doesn’t he? Don’t want to be someone’s dirty fucking secret. Hah, literally. Fuck.”

Peter hasn’t been paying attention, wrapped up in himself a bit, but he is starting to notice Lucian seeming uneasy. Tiny twitches of fingers whenever there is a even halfway loud noise, blinking at people raising their voices. Which Peter sort of recognises.

“Shit. Been talking too much about myself. You- I mean. Let’s go ho- Let’s get back, yeah?” Peter suggests, and Lucian nods, with some emphasis.

Lucian changes into his more lupine shape as soon as they get back. Clearly it’s easier for him, emotionally or psychically or whatever, being large and scary and fluffy. Or possibly he just wants to avoid continuing the conversation. Well, Peter doesn’t blame him, but that doesn’t get Aro off the hook. Lucian had emphasised, earlier, on the way back, that the marriage was apparently an open sort of thing, from both sides. At least, that was Peter’s interpretation. 

_Aro. Were you ever going 2 mention u’re fuckihn married?_

_Because, you fucking bloodsucker, that’s something 2 mention a bit earlier_

_B4 fucking some1 4exfuckingsample_

_For the eleventh time_

_Ur ex is shedding on my sofa & ure paying to get it cleaned_

Peter keeps drinking as he texts, which always helps. And Aro fails to reply for hours. Maybe he’s in a meeting or something, doing important negotiations, but also maybe he is fucking his fucking wife, and Peter can’t quite help but feel certain it’s the latter, and it makes him irrationally angry. Or rationally angry? He can’t be quite certain at this point, he’s a bottle and a half in. He wonders if Lucian wants to get drunk. Probably not. Peter went to check on him earlier, and the great big wolf had managed to bury himself under Aro’s cloak, so that pretty thoroughly explains his mental state. Excellent. Probably some part of that is Aro’s fault too. Fuck. Fuck this. Peter is going to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that someone suggested they go for a walk in the comments of the last one, but I promise I planned this chapter before that. Not that I don't mind taking inspiration from comments because god knows i'm not great at coming up with ideas. But still.


	20. Bad Decisions & Rescue Missions

Lucian starts awake, head spinning towards the sudden noise. There is another, metal and wood clanking against each other. The air is thick with the stench of alcohol. Through the window he can see it’s gotten dark. 

“Fuck,” he hears, dimly, from the hall, “fucking shit. Fuck?”

He is in Aro’s human’s house. He is safe. There is no greater danger than Peter hurting himself falling down because he is too drunk. Lucian buries his snout back under Aro’s cloak. It smells more like himself than like Aro by now, but it still feels comforting. He misses the vampire. Of course, before this he hasn’t seen him since the mid nineties, because he had been working towards his goal, but still, that short meeting, even as out of it as he was… Oh, it has been far too long. It is necessary, of course, both of them, until recently, having people to lead, in different countries, wars and battles to fight, but it is frustrating all the same. He curls into himself, wanting to feel cool arms around him. 

After a few minutes further of swearing and clanking, Lucian hears the lift open, close and descend. He wonders where Peter is going, this late and this drunk. Probably it’s nothing important. Right? Only- Only Aro seems to genuinely care for this human, and likely he will be disappointed if he dies, and that, in Lucian’s experience, is a significant risk when it comes to humans. They are not known for their durability. Perhaps he ought to investigate.

Lucian drags himself from the bed, padding out into the hallway. He finds an alarming collection of empty bottles on the living room. At least, he thinks it’s alarming. Humans have fairly low tolerance for alcohol he feels pretty certain, despite their high enthusiasm. On the floor next to the sofa lays Peter’s mobile telephone. Lucian touches the button with a claw, and it lights up to show Peter has several texts from Aro. He cannot see what they are, though. When he tries to open it, it demands a code. Mobile telephones have gotten significantly more complicated since 2003, he is forced to admit. He has no idea what the code might be, and the screen does not respond to his inhuman fingertips. But he hasn’t seen Peter leave the phone somewhere often, so that might be a worry.

In the hall of weaponry, which is Lucian’s least favourite room, there are piles of weapons on the floor. What looks like an ancient battle axe lies beneath a t-shirt with Peter’s own face on it, surrounded by several stakes, some of them silver tipped. Not ideal. And- And if Peter was going out drinking, or to see other humans, he wouldn’t have been going through his weapons, would he? There is a light spot on the wall where clearly a sword has been mounted. Which is significantly worrying, because Lucian doubts the human is proficient at using one. People generally haven’t been for the last few centuries. Right. Lucian has to go after him and make sure the human doesn’t get himself killed. 

He shifts back to his human shape, and dresses in what he judges to be relatively neutral clothes. He misses his leather coat. Maybe he can get a new one. Only he does need money for that sort of thing, and though Peter has been generous to him he doesn’t feel comfortable asking for it. He would ask Aro, but it is not as if he has a bank account to which he could send it. He isn’t a person, not as far as the world at large is concerned. Never has been, really.

Following Peter’s scent, Lucian takes the lift down to the parking garage, and over to the car, which is still there. Lucian finds Peter’s keys dropped next to the driver’s side door, and picks them up. Probably he did not leave them there on purpose. The trail then leads him up and out, not the way you’re meant to walk, but where you drive. Clearly Peter isn’t thinking straight. 

Lucian walks through the bright lit streets, filled with noise. It’s stressful to him, still, perhaps even more so than it was this afternoon, but it is easier to tune it out when he has something to follow, to hone in on just his sense of smell. It would be a bit easier to track Peter in his wolf form, but it’s still far, far better than any human in this shape. It feels better now, too, to have a mission, of sorts. A clear goal. He has gotten so used to surviving, more than living (admittedly very easy for someone who magically heals and can only be killed with silver), but it has been very odd just… Just being. Just being inside rooms and not doing anything. He has gotten out of the habit of being idle. 

He tracks Peter, finally, to what looks to be a run-down block of flats. Lots of knocked out and boarded over windows, trash strewn around outside, poor quality layers of graffiti covering each other up. And the scent of blood. The cold, sterile scent of vampire. A faint rotten undertone of dead earth. He’s in there, and more likely than not in danger.

Lucian debates shifting before going in, but it will cause more trouble than it is worth, likely. Besides, he wore black, not only because that is most of the few pieces of clothing Peter stashed in the room Lucian is using, but also because the blood will show less. And there is likely to be blood. So Lucian heads in, waiting, listening, sneaking. He doesn’t know if it is necessary, but it cannot hurt. He can hear faint, slurred swearing, so he knows Peter is still alive. He smells two vampires, slightly different scents, but the same species. Not one he is terribly familiar with, but clearly vampires all the same. Not so powerful, though, that he does not think he can easily take them down. Nothing like Aro or his kind.

A few minutes later he is outside the door to the single subterranean unit, his ear to the door. The two vampires appear to be taunting Peter, and are using his name. Ah. Perhaps they do not like his vampire hunting show. Lucian can see how such a thing might not make one popular with or respected by local vampires. Quietly, very quietly, he pushes open the door, easing himself in through the smallest gap he can make. He is not sure whether the senses of these vampires are as acute as his own, but it does not do to assume they are not.

The scene he finds as he leans around a corner is worrying. Peter is on his back, a few stakes strewn on the floor around him, with two vampires holding him down. They don’t seem to have bitten him, though, he doesn’t smell of blood. There is, yes, the scent of blood, but it’s old. Perhaps a previous victim who has passed away. Peter is swearing at them, attempting to be louder even as the vampires toy with him cruelly. The vampires seem not to have heard Lucian, which is good. He takes a moment to concentrate, letting his teeth grow into fangs, his eyes grow cold.

Lucian pounces on the closest vampire, throwing her to the ground and ripping her throat out, spitting out the dead, repulsive blood. She clutches at her throat uselessly, gasping. This won’t kill her, but it will certainly slow her while he takes out the other one. This one is male, and has moved away from Peter. It hisses at him. He snarls back, the other vampire’s blood dripping down from his mouth. He hates the taste of vampire blood.

“Stake,” Peter yells, tossing one in roughly Lucian’s direction, which also has the effect of distracting the vampire. 

Lucian catches it, and lunges towards the vampire, knocking him to the ground. Scrambles up enough to have the momentum to drive the stake in between his ribs. It catches on bone, and the vampires hisses up at him before Lucian manages a second try, the stake piercing his heart. He doesn’t watch as he burns, glances over at Peter to make sure he is indeed unbitten, and then moving to the second vampire, who is struggling to push herself up.

“Bastard,” she gasps, through the blood leaking from her mouth.

“Probably,” he agrees, and drives the stake into her heart, watching as the grey spreads from there until she collapses into a vaguely humanoid pile of ashes.

He breathes a sigh of relief, then turns to Peter, crouching beside him.

“Are you all right?”

“Fuck,” Peter says, but this word does seem to comprise a solid quarter of his voculary, and so this is not unexpected.

He has some bruises, a black eye, but nothing worse than that. His clothes are torn, but Lucian isn’t sure whether this is from the fighting or a deliberate choice. Perhaps a mixture of both.

“Thanks,” Peter grumbles, taking Lucian’s hand and letting himself be helped up.

He sways gently for a moment, then gets a slightly panicked look on his face before vomiting onto the ash pile that was recently trying to kill him. Lucian retreats to the hallway, both to give him his space and to try to avoid the smell. He hears running water, before Peter comes out to join him.

“Can you walk?”

Peter hesitates, then nods, but when Lucian moves to leave, Peter grabs his sleeve.

“Hold on, Wolfman. You might wanna, uh, splash some water on your face or something? Got some blood in your beard.”

The danger seems to have sobered him up a little, which is good. And he does have a point. When Lucian sees his face in the mirror he can understand why humans think them monsters. Blood running down his chin and neck, disappearing into the shallow triangle of his shirt. Eyes pale and, to humans, unnatural. He washes away the worst of it, but his hair and beard is dark, and in the night it ought not to be too visible.

He follows Peter back, having not paid much attention to the route he took, merely following his scent. He seems to be concentrating very hard on not walking as wobbly as he does, which is almost charming. Trying to uphold some faҫade of being less of a mess than he is.

“Why did you come?” Peter asks, after they get in his private lift.

“To make sure you did not die.”

“Yeah, I- Again, thanks, appreciate not being dead now, but like… why?”

Lucian hesitates, having to concentrate to work out the sentences he wants to construct. It is frustrating, not being able to be as eloquent as he knows he is, a near decade of solitude having eroded his ability to speak English. And French and German and Italian and several other languages he also does not feel he would be fluent in at the moment. Turning off his human brain for a decade was… efficient, in achieving what he wanted to achieve, but coming out of it is challenging.

“Aro would have been… sad. If you died.”

“Oh.”

Peter blinks, big brown eyes wet with some emotion. Perhaps telling him off Aro’s marital status was a mistake, but honestly, how was Lucian to know? He has no idea how long they have been lovers. Of course, it is possible that Aro is being more guarded around a human lover than he would another vampire or other supernatural creature. Lucian would not blame him for this, even though the human in question seems very aware humans are not the only ones living in this world.

“Why did you go? Hunt? You are…” he struggles with the word before settling on “filled with wine.”

Peter laughs, then seems to regret the motion, bending over slightly, breathing very deliberately and clutching at his stomach. He stops for a moment, after dropping his bag of weaponry on the pile already on the floor.

“Dunno. Drunk. Angry. Aro wasn’t replying to my texts so I thought I’d go out, take my anger out on some vampires. Didn’t intend to need saving.”

“Maybe, next time, do so without wine.”

“Yes, thank you,” Peter bites back.

“You will need less saving.”

“All right! Yep! Heard you,” Peter replies emphatically, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Lucian hears him setting the water running, possibly in a failed attempt to cover up the sound of his retching. Humans are terribly fragile, and it is a wonder this one has survived so far if this is the kind of things he does regularly. Still, he can sort of see why Aro likes him. He is… ridiculous, and terribly dramatic, and he does, he supposes, have a nice enough face. He doesn’t quite seem to understand, though, how relationships with Aro usually work. But that is not necessarily something it is Lucian’s place to tell him. Although if Aro, as he threatens, intends to be gone several more weeks, perhaps he needs to. Because Peter seems to be spiralling towards self destruction. Unless this is simply what he is always like, and his survival thus far is just luck.

He wanders into the living room to investigate a loud buzzing noise, and finds that it is Peter’s phone. And he would leave it to do so, usually, he really would, but he sees Aro’s name, and so he cannot help but answer.

“Peter?”

“No. It’s me,” Lucian replies, reverting back to his mother tongue, which fortunately Aro speaks perfectly.

“Lucian, my dear sweet wolf. I am delighted to hear you are feeling better. You are, yes?”

“Somewhat, yes. It is… An adjustment. It would be easier, if you were here.”

“I know. I will return as soon as I am able, my sweet, I assure you.”

“Yes. I think you owe Peter a serious talk about your relationship. He is frustrated. Enough to go out, drunk, in the middle of the night to try to hunt. Enough that he needs saving. Had I not followed him he would likely have died to night. Or been turned.”

Aro is quiet for a moment.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

“If you are serious, about this human, you do. Are you?”

Aro doesn’t reply. Instead he asks whether Peter is taking good care of him.

“He has been a generous host, yes, if uneasy. Though in his defence it took me a while to get used to being… near humans, at all.”

“Yes. You will have to tell me everything, when I return.”

They say their goodbyes, and Lucian goes to check on Peter. There is groaning from inside the bathroom.

“Peter?”

An answering groan.

“Are you all right? Can I help?”

“If you get me some painkillers from the kitchen and order a pizza I will be forever in your debt,” Peter replies.

All right. That’s something Lucian can do. He is reasonably certain what a pizza is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a lot of fun with the concept of someone having missed almost the entire 2010s. Not, of course, that I'm implying 2003 Budapest didn't have pizza places, I just cannot see the lycans getting takeout delivered to their secret underground base. It says in the pre-Rise of the Lycans ROTL novelisation thing that the vampires exclusively fed the lycans raw meat, so they seem like they would be, if not obligatory carnivores, then at least capable of living off only that. Anyway. It's mostly because I find Lucian's confusion funny.


	21. Rooftop Rants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns about lycans, and he and Lucian bond over Aro's being, well, Aro.

"Look, I've got to ask, were you the werewolf who chased me down and then didn't kill me like amonth or two ago?"

Lucian looks mildly confused, and Peter isn't sure whether it's the language barrier or his own failure to explain. Lucian has gotten much better now, the language coming back to him, and he has been talking more too. Enough so, thinks Peter, that it's about time he learns more of his lycanthropic house guest.

"I do not-"

"Middle of the night. I was staking out a vampire nest. Big scary shape comes out of it, and naturally I assume it's a vampire, right, cause who else would be in a vampire nest, and the silhouette was definitely not that of someone human. So yeah, get my crossbow out, fire off a shot. Hit the thing in the shoulder, and they, understandably angered, chase me down. But this werewolf, for whatever reason, they don't kill me. Just sniff me for a bit and thwn leave. Which is odd, right? And, now, I don't mean this to sound bigoted, but I can't tell werewolves apart. I'd guess it was the same species as you, though. Big, black, furry. Lots of very sharp teeth."

"Lycan. That is what I am. A lycan. But we are, as you say, a sort of werewolf. But we have always used the term to describe our more feral brethren, those who lose their minds and are no longer able to return to their human form."

"Sure," says Peter, who understands the importance of having your identity respected, "yeah, sorry. Lycan. I'll remember, I promise. Was it, though? You?"

"I do remember being shot by a hunter, and chasing them down. And ssomething about their scent putting me off killing them. So that may, indeed, have been me."

The last week really has done wonders for his eloquency. Well, his eloquency in English, at any rate. Peter doesn't speak any second language fluently, and so he can't really know what it's like, but he imagines it to be frustrating. Much like Aro, Lucian too speaks with a sort of crisp, neutral English accent. Not one Peter can place, but it being a second language that makes sense.

"Right. Thanks for not killing me. And for saving my life last week. I'll, uh, try not to make you have to do that again."

"It was no trouble. I do not want Aro to have to grieve you, and I also feel better doing something... useful. It is odd, just being here, not having to hunt or fight anything."

Peter leans back, grabbing another beer from the cooler, cracking it open. They're on the roof, which isn't actually a roof terrace or place you're meant to be if you're not the maintenance guy, but Peter has struck up a deal with said guy that involves Peter not telling anyone he's high half the time he's at work, in exchange for the key to let him up there. There's a couple of chairs there, now, an old crate which stands in for a table.

"Welcome to come along hunting vampires, if you'd like. Honestly after trying both with and without a superpowered supernatural person on my side I'm starting to feel safer with. Which is something me eight months ago would have laughed at. Weird how shit changes."

"If you would like," Lucian replies, "I am certain also, that Aro would worry less."

Peter looks over at him through his dark sunglasses. Lucian is squinting out at the city sprawled out beneath them, busy and colourful. He looks better than when he arrived, some of the sharp edges filed down. Beard short and neat, though his hair remains long and tangled despite his repeated overuse of Peter's conditioner. His skin, too'looks very slightly less pale. Sun's probably good for were- for lycans too. For their human skin, not just their weird wolf skin.

"You care a lot about him," Peter observes, watching for a reaction.

"I do," Lucian agrees.

"I mean. A lot for someone who's not seen him in a decade. I mean, you don't look much older than me, so it can't have been that long lasting a thing?"

Lucian laughs.

"Oh, I am older than you think."

"What, like forty? In that case I need you to tell me your skincare routine."

Lucian looks at him, seeming very amused.

"I am eight hundred and five years old, Peter."

What?

"What? What the fuck? Thought you were a wolf, not a vampire? Jesus fucking christ what the fucking fuck?"

Peter stares at Lucian, trying to see if he can spot some sort of hidden sign of age, but there is nothing, only a slightl smile lingering.

"My species, lycans, share a fellow origin with a species of vampires. One immortal, with three sons. Two immortal, one mortal."

"Sucks for that one guy."

"I- perhaps, yes. The two other brothers, though, one was bitten by a bat,and from him the vampires are descended. The other, as you can perhaps guess, was bitten by a wolf."

"What, so these vamps, they turn into bats, then?"

"They do not. They drink blood, are cold and fear the sun. But they are not dead, not precisely, not as you would think of it. They can go into a sort of extended rest for centuries at a time, only to be reawakened by blood."

"But both of you, right, are immortal, then? You stop ageing once you're bitten?"

"From what I have observed, yes," Lucian confirms.

He takes a beer from the cooler, too, opening it and taking a long swallow. Peter, despite himself, finds that he watches the arch of his throat. Raises an eyebrow at the way his beard is only a centimeter or two from blending down into his chest hair. Probably a werewolf thing, isn't it, being a bit hairy.

"From what you have observed? Must be what happened to you too, yeah?"

"No."

"No?"

"I was born like this. I have never been human," Lucian says casually, as if this is completely normal. 

"What? How?"

"I am the originator of my kind. The first of the lycans."

"Wait, so, what, you were the original immortal brother?"

Lucian laughs again, then shakes his head. Oh yeah, it's Peter who's being risiculous here, clearly. By not assuming the most wild fucking situation imaginable.

"No, far from it. The ones who came before me, they were, as I said, trapped in wolf form forever once bitten, unable to retain their wits. As far as I have been able to understand, and partially guess, my mother must have gotten bit while she was pregnant with me. Thus my condition; changing at will. Though they were, are, stronger than we."

"That's pretty fucking wild," says Peter, who feels like he has new and bizarre facts of the supernatural thrown at him every waking moment these days.

Lucian shrugs. Presumably he is used to the absurdity of his life.

"Shit. All right. So okay. When did you and Aro first hook up, then?" He asks, struggling back towards cognitively simpler and emotionally more complex shores.

"Oh, it was a while ago, after I had freed my people from the vampires-"

"Excuse me what?"

"I will tell you later, if I shall have to explain every detail we shall be here till summer."

"Right. Fair enough. On you go, then," Peter encourages, draining his third beer and opening a fourth.

The sun is heading slowly towards the western horison, ready to leave them to fend for themselves against the cold and the dark. But well, with Lucian by his side, Peter can't be in much danger.

"It was, I think the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century. He had an alliance with the Corvinus vampires, the coven who had previously enslaved my people, from which we had successfully revolted about a century prior-"

"Christ."

Lucian arches an eyebrow, as if to ask whether Peter would like him to finish. Peter mimes zipping his mouth shut and gestures for Lucian to go on, as if baffled confusion was not a reaction that the situation entirely justifies.

"And as I mentioned, due to an interruption by your kind-"

"The English? Yeah, we do that."

"Humans, Peter. The English specifically were, for once, not involved in causing this."

"Oi. But, also, fair."

"As I was saying. As this was before I went into hiding for centuries, which yes, I will explain, I was at that point leading my, well. Army makes it sound grander than it was, perhaps. I was leading the lycan forces, those willing and able to fight. They wished to take back the castle from which we had chased them a century before. And we wished for them to... not do that. That was the essence of the conflict. That, and the vampires wanted us either enslaved once more or else eradicated."

"Those sound like asshole vampires."

"They were," Lucian agrees, "with some exceptions."

"Either way," he continues, "yes. That is when Aro and I met. He had no fear of us, naturally, and, due to being unfamiliar with our kind, he was fascinated by us lycans. And he cared very little for the goals of his allies, beyond performatively helping. So in exchange for me agreeing to spend some time with him at Volterra, sharing what knowledge I have of us, he agreed to announce to his allies that we had defeated him."

"And you fell in love," Peter extrapolates.

"Well. There were steps between that. Such as his demanding I show him the transformation and also what exactly silver did to me. And making me learn Italian and Greek because it was, and I quote, simply impossible for anyone to have a civilised conversation otherwise. And a great deal of sex before the falling in love part. But that happened too."

Peter laughs. Something about this is sounding a little familiar, but he is not going to acknowledge that.

"Right, that sounds like him. What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like how did it end?"

"End?"

Ah.

"Wait, so, are you still... a thing?"

"I- I think so? I would hope so. I know Aro thought me dead, and I feel bad about that, but... we have never lived in the same country. We have- had, for my part, peoples to look after, battles to fight. We never saw each other that often. I assume he had other lovers than me. That is certainly the impression Sulpicia gave me the one time we spoke. Said they both have. And after two millennia of marriage one can hardly blame them."

"Yeah, I- I suppose."

"This is not the answer you hoped for?"

Peter squirms, because no one ever talked about expectations, or if there even was a relationship to be defined, rather than just a series of sexual encounters. And yeah, he did have expectations. Does have them, although they've been soundly trampled by Lucian's explanations.

"I mean. Not... I had assumed there was a break up, at some point. Not that- I mean. If Aro is married and also takes lovers and whatever that's one thing, that's fine, but- I would like to have known. Somewhere between the first time and the twentieth he should have told me. Nice to know if you're sharing someone, y'know. Not that- Well. Anyway."

"I understand," Lucian tells him kindly, "And you are right, he ought to have told you. But he forgets, sometimes, how short human life spans are. To him something lasting months is the blink of an eye. Not in the sense that it does not matter to him, but that it simply does not occur to him that it is an affair that has lasted long enough for you to have expectations of more truth, more... some sort of commitment."

"S'pose that makes sense. But then... what happens when he comes back? Do we- do we share?"

He grimaces at the thought, not because he resents Lucian, or even the idea of a threesome, the wolf is pretty hot, but the intense awkwardness he imagines must necessarily unfold.

"I don't know," Lucian replies.

"Shall we go down? It is getting colder, and I think you humans do not do well with the cold."

"Oh, and lycans are imune to it, are you?"

Lucian shrugs.

"Somewhat."

"Ridiculous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written entirely on phone, forgive likely many typos ive failed to notice.  
> Also, because ive not said on this one yet, follow me on tumblr @indiasierrabravo to bully me into doing more fanart, I need the push


	22. Return of Dracula

Peter shivers, feeling something unpleasantly cold, but not willing to let sleep give up its grip on him quite yet. There are noises, loud, and he protests, vaguely and incoherently.

“Peter,” the noise insists, and finally, unwillingly, his consciousness surfaces, and he opens his eyes.

A pale face is hovering over him, but it takes all of two seconds for him to recognise it as Aro.

“Hey,” he says, voice slow and hoarse with sleep, “back to your old spooky tricks, huh?”

“I am,” Aro confirms, leaning in to kiss his forehead. 

Peter knows he is mad at Aro, but he is very tired, and it is nice to see him, so he does not complain when Aro lays down next to him, wrapping an arm around him. Peter turns to bury his face in Aro’s chest, grumbling vague accusations at him. He feels Aro pet his fingers through his hair, and were he more awake he might notice a slight tugging sensation at his mind. He doesn’t, though, and so within minutes he is asleep again, curled up against his vampire.

-

The next morning he walks into the living room to find Lucian and Aro there. Lucian is wolf shaped, draped across the sofa, with his enormous head resting in Aro’s lap. Bright light makes the edges of Aro sparkle, bits of sunlight creeping through cracks in curtains. Peter lets himself enjoy the sight for a moment before getting angry.

“Right, bloodsucker. You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

“I do, do I? It certainly is nice to be welcomed back so warmly after all your complaints of my leaving.”

“Piss off. Look, I know we never got all that serious, but you could’ve fucking told me you were married. Or that you were having me look after your- not-ex? On again off again werewolf lover- sorry Lucian, lycan lover? That’s kind of relevant fucking information for me to have, is it not?”

“It did not seem, at the time, like information that would be helpful.”

Peter groans, sitting down on the opposite side, facing them. Lucian has cracked one black eye open, clearly paying attention, but, perhaps wisely, not getting involved. Peter doesn’t blame him.

“No?”

“No. Clearly it is information that bothers you.”

“It’s not- that’s not the fucking point, Aro!”

The vampire is infuriatingly calm, not moving, other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the minute movements of his hand petting the fur across Lucian’s neck. The faint shifting sparkles as the sun makes its slow trek across the room.

“Then what is?” he finally asks.

“That you kept it secret! Like yeah, I’d be a bit hurt if you’d said hey, please nurse my weird catatonic lycan boyfriend back to health, but at least I’d know! I’d deal with it! And I don’t mind you being poly or whatever, but that’s the sort of thing you need to say up front! Not leave as a nasty surprise delivered by others!”

The vampire raises a single eyebrow.

“I am sorry if you have somehow acquired the delusion that I am a good person, Peter, but-”

“Oh fuck off with that shit. No. Look, I know you’re not, right? I have been trying to ignore it, to pretend not to know, but I am very much fucking aware. But you have been good to- to me. You’ve set a standard for yourself and let yourself down and if- If you think because I’m human, because to you I’ll die in just a little while anyway I don’t matter, I don’t deserve to know or I’m not worth the bother, then you can get the fuck out of my flat right now.”

“That is not it, Peter, at all. I care for you. You know I do, but given your life, your history, I did not think you would care.”

“Oh, what, because I sleep around a bit I’m not worthy of the truth?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I did not tell you the exact nature of Lucian’s and my relationship because I thought it might affect whether you agreed to look after him or not. Or that you might need more time to decide, time I at that point simply did not have. And I am sorry if it has been such a burden that I-”

“No. Shut up, it’s not his fault. Lucian’s cool, okay, I don’t- This is entirely on you, Aro.”

“Well, then,” Aro continues with a slight smile, probably calculated to infuriate Peter, “I am glad you two have gotten along.”

The thing that gets Peter is how absolutely calm Aro is, while Peter is getting more and more heated. It makes him feel like it doesn’t even matter to him, that no matter what Peter says or does, ultimately it will have no effect on him. And that’s, well. That’s true, isn’t it? What consequences can he impart on an immortal, almost all powerful vampire? What can Peter do, other than attempt to withhold himself, and what harm does that cause Aro? Absolutely none. He feels powerless. He hates it.

“You know, for someone who can read minds you seem really fucking set on not trying to understand other people.”

Aro sighs, as if Peter is the one being unreasonable. All the while, he keeps petting Lucian’s head, like some fucking Bond villain with their white cat. Peter looks to Lucian, for help, but he has closed his eyes again, seeming set on not getting involved. Which, while again, understandable, is really fucking annoying right now. Bit unfair that he can go all wolfy and just- just decide not to be a part of the conversation.

“And if you are intent on misunderstanding everything I say or do as a deliberate act of malice, rather than misunderstandings and poor judgement, then that is not particularly helpful to the conversation either.”

Peter shakes his head.

“I need a fucking drink.”

“It is not even noon yet, Peter. You haven’t had breakfast.”

“Thought beer for breakfast was common, back in the day? Besides,” he adds, pulling a bottle from the mini fridge in his bar, “this is coffee stout. Clearly suited for breakfast.”

Aro, to his credit, doesn’t argue. Merely watches, patiently. Though, when you’ve been alive that long, days must feel like hours, hours like seconds. Maybe Lucian’s got a point about Aro just genuinely not realising their relationship, whatever it might be, has lasted a while now. That months to him might seem like a few weeks at most. Still, though, that’s not really an excuse. If he, as he claims, has perfect, crystal clear memory, than surely he must remember the same amount of time together as Peter. Though Perhaps he has never thought about him while they were not together. It doesn’t seem like something that would be true, Aro after all being the one who pursued Peter, but it is possible.

“What, then, is it that you want me to do about this? What can I do to remedy my behaviour?”

“Could apologise for lying to me.”

“I am sorry, Peter, for lying to you.”

“No. Like you mean it. Like you understand what you’ve done and how that’s been for me and actually feel bad. Not cause I tell you to, not because you can see inside my mind. Because you feel like you should.”

“And if I do not?”

“Then you can fuck off and have a think until you feel ready to do that.”

Aro goes quiet for a moment, thinking. Peter watches him, feeling a sort of unpleasant mixture of dread and regret. He doesn’t actually want Aro to leave, selfishly wants him to feel what Peter thinks he should feel. Because what if he leaves, if he decides he doesn’t feel bad, and doesn’t owe it to Peter to try to understand? What if he gives him up as a lost cause? Certainly it would make Peter’s life easier, but he finds he absolutely doesn’t want that. That he has missed Aro, deeply, for these three weeks, and what he wants is for them to go back to the way things were. Comparatively uncomplicated. But then, it’s a bit late for that now.

He glances at Aro, nervously, trying to look firm and angry, but he doesn’t think he’s actually fooling him. Too perceptive, too experienced. The sun has moved away by now, and his face is a flat pallor once more, devoid entirely of that unnatural glittering texture and light. Lucian extricates himself from Aro’s grip, walking off into his room- no. The guest room. The guest room that he currently short term occupies, not his room. He can’t get too used to this, even though having the lycan there has been kind of… Kind of comforting. Because ever since Jerry killed Ginger, he has felt unsafe here. Has felt certain that it would be so terribly easy for someone to get in, to attack him in his sleep. As proven, really, by how frequently and easily Aro gets in. And, well, having one of the big scary monsters hanging out nearby, one who is clearly willing to protect him, even if only as a favour to Aro, it makes him feel safe. God his life is fucked up.

“Well?” he prods.

“I do understand,” Aro begins slowly, leaning forward, “that you feel I have treated you unfairly. And in retrospect, yes, perhaps I ought to have told you that I am married. I was wed in 43BC. We have- Sulpicia and I, we have been together for millennia, and you must understand, we stay, to a certain degree, out of each others lives. One must, after such a long time. And we both take lovers, sometimes, like with Lucian, very long term ones. Sometimes only fleeting ones. And it is hard, in the beginning, knowing which it will be. And I was fascinated with you, from the start. I did tell you that. And perhaps yes, some part of me thought the prospect of seducing a vampire hunter who so hated my kind amusing. A challenge. But I- but it didn’t last, Peter. I hope you know that. I do like you, genuinely, for who you are. And I should have been honest with you earlier-”

“Or at all,” Peter interjects.

“Or at all, yes. I suppose I worried about your reaction. Which, rightly, would only get worse the longer it went on. I did not wish for you to be angry with me,”

“Well that’s turned out fucking splendid, hasn’t it?”

Aro smiles, gentle and careful. Peter hears noises from Lucian’s room, the sickening sound of crunching and reforming bone. Perhaps Lucian intends to join the conversation. 

“I am sorry, Peter, for deceiving you, however much it was not meant to hurt you. If anything, I intended to spare your feelings.”

“Oh fuck off, you were not. You were avoiding me being righteously angry at you for being shitty. Fucking coward.”

“I- Yes. You are right. I apologise, Peter, sincerely.”

It sounds genuine, and Aro does look as if he means it, but how can Peter know? How can he be certain in any way that Aro is not simply terribly good at saying what he knows Peter wants to hear? That he didn’t read his thoughts while he slept, able to perfectly tailor his apology to Peter’s expectations? Although if he did that, he might have done a bit better of a job. It’s pretty paranoia inducing, this dating a telepath. Not knowing what is real concern and understanding, versus what are facts plucked from his head without his consent. For all Peter knows, Aro might be able to read his mind without him noticing, too, without even touching him?

Lucian walks in, then, before Peter can respond, holding a pair of mugs. He hands one to Peter. Coffee. Peter’s own coffee from his own machine, but still, he appreciates it, and murmurs his thanks. Aro watches this with an expression Peter can’t quite parse. 

“Are you explaining yourself?” Lucian demands of Aro.

“I am trying.”

“Not very well,” Peter chimes in, helpfully.

Lucian frowns, addressing Peter.

“He does not intend to be cruel, if that is any consolation. He merely is so far removed from humans- from any of us that it is… difficult for him to quite empathise.”

“Because he’s too far above us puny humans?”

Lucian shakes his head, and Aro makes a face that suggest that yes, actually, he is above humans, far above.

“Not above. Far, perhaps, to the left. Removed from humanity, despite him having been human, once. And much though he pretends not to, he does care. He does love, and care, though he is not always very good at it.”

Aro looks as if he is about to protest, but Lucian shushes him, gently, affectionately. It is the first time Peter has seen them together, properly, both as human as they are able to appear. A hint of what they might be like together. It is a more comfortable relationship, he thinks, from that brief glimpse, than the one he and Aro has. He finds he envies it, but when can something completely new compared to a relationship centuries old, however fragmented and interrupted it might have been?

Peter isn’t angry any more, he realises. Not properly. No, the frustration has been replaced with a feeling of loss. Or lost potential. Of having missed out. He drains the coffee, and immediately regrets it, as it is far too hot, and leaves. He hears them calling his name, asking where he is going, but doesn’t reply. He can’t deal with this, not all of it, not right now. He gets in the lift, and heads down, out, away.


	23. Peter Tries, Valiantly, To Decide What He Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does not succeed

"I don't get it. I don't get why I- he... I don't. I don't get anything."

"No?"

"Everything in my life is so fucking fucked up, I don't know how to make sense of it. Any of it. All the shit that- that deep down I've known was real ever since my mum and dad died, but I managed to... to pretend was something I hallucinated to cope. It's all- and look at me sitting here, talking to you, of all- I mean. No offence."

"None taken," Lucian replies mildly.

They are out, in the sunshine, somewhere Aro cannot follow, sat at a table outside a café. Peter lit a cigarette and almost immediately put it out, and it lies, a wispy trail of smoke rising from it still. Lucian had followed Peter out, when he left, and while Peter had been angry at first he calmed down pretty quickly. After all, none of this is Lucian's fault. 

"And you and Aro and- it's just a lot. It's a lot to deal with, and I understand, obviously, based on what little you've told me, that nothing I am experiencing comes close to everything you've been through, or Aro, probably, though he's not really talked about it but-"

Lucian holds up a hand.

"What has happened to me has nothing to do with what you feel about what has happened to you. I am not judging."

He really is, for someone who was, a mere three weeks ago, a large angry and confused wolf who growled at Peter a lot, a very kind and understanding man. Which also leaves Peter confused about what Aro's type is, because the two of them have very little in common. Although, in a poly situation, variation is probably the key. Also in an immortality situation.

"Right, I- thanks. For being so understanding. I don't really know what I'm trying to say here, I just need to talk it out with someone who isn't Aro, but who understands the situation, and, well. You're the only one."

"Given the nature of the situation I should certainly hope so.

“Yeah, fair enough. There are… Two people I know of, two humans, I mean, who know of the existence of the supernatural. But I can’t exactly talk about this with them, either. Don’t think they’d support this. Which ought to tell me, right, that this is bad.”

“Because he is not a human?”

“No. Because he’s a vampire. Because he lives off of human blood, because he literally can’t not. Can’t not harm humans. Well. Depending on whether you define taking blood donations away from the people who need them as hurting humans.”

“Well, he-” Lucian begins, then stops, frowning.

“What?”

“It is- it is nothing. Nothing you should hear from me.”

“What?” Peter demands again, this time with more emphasis.

“He can- I mean, he is physically able to live off animal blood. But he does say it’s absolutely terrible in comparison.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Peter groans.

“But you knew what he was, did you not? When you met?”

“I did,” Peter agrees, miserably.

“And you still like him.”

“I do,” Peter admits, guiltily.

“Then, is it your wish to change him?”

Peter shrugs helplessly. Drains his coffee, by now cold and unpleasant. Looks at Lucian as if the lycan will give him permission to be okay with falling for an ancient, evil being.

“Don’t know. I mean, if I could get him to never kill a human again, then yeah? But that’s not- that’s not gonna happen, is it?”

“Probably not. He likes you a great deal, Peter, but not enough, I think, to completely change, to suddenly develop a set of morals palatable to you.”

“Yeah. Guess it’d be unfair of me to ask. It just- It’s weird, right? Because it’s not like he’s incapable of caring and empathy. Like literally, that’s his ridiculous fucking super power. So it’s not like he’s a monster incapable of being a decent person to people. He just… I guess he can kind of turn it off and on again.”

“Perhaps, yes. It is up to you to decide whether that is something you can live with.”

“Yeah. I know.”

The conversation is interrupted, briefly, as their food arrives. Lucian has bullied Peter into actually getting something solid for breakfast, seeing as he has had nothing but coffee and beer, and in retaliation Peter had ordered the most disgustingly vegan health food on the menu for him. He seems, however, perfectly happy with it, and so Peter’s revenge isn’t terribly effective.

“What was it like? Or is it like, I suppose, being with him? Like long term, I mean. Not that I’ve got centuries to live, obviously, but you know. More than a month or two. Though, at this rate, maybe not.”

“As long as Aro is around I think you will be fine,” Lucian reassures.

Or Lucian himself. But probably he will move out now Aro’s back, to- to wherever Aro stays when he is in town? Does he stay somewhere? He must, surely, even if he doesn’t require a place to sleep. 

“He was… is an attentive person. When he has the time. Given our lives, usually, we would be apart for long periods of time, and then spend perhaps a month or two together when we had the time. And, well, especially when he came to me, which was rarer, he would have more time. Give me his full attention, and only be a little irritated that I would waste a third of the day by being asleep. And in the time between, we- we would write. Though I was in hiding, and as such tried not to broadcast my whereabouts widely, he always seemed to know where to send a messenger.”

“Right,” Peter says, nodding, and feeling dissatisfied without quite knowing what he was hoping for.

Did he imagine that Aro would spend years at a time being domestic with the wolf? No, they both had shit to do. It’s not like he’s going to take a break from his life and duties to settle down with Peter, is it? Is that even what Peter wants? No. It’s never been what he’s wanted. It’s just that he’s right at the start of this, whatever this is. That’s infatuated and lovesick and wants the attention of the object of his affection, however ill advised, all the time. It will pass. And if he has a hot, powerful, off again-on again vampire paramour, then, well. Given his life, that would probably be a good and strategic thing, wouldn’t it? Besides, Aro and Lucian are still a thing, clearly. It’s not like Peter is going to the be The One, anyway. And the wife. Shit.

“Was it difficult?” he asks instead, trying to distract himself.

“What?”

“You know, your relationship. Being,” he hesitates, debating how much to assume, “being queer in the middle ages?”

“For me? No. For humans, incredibly.”

“No? W- Lycans not homophobic?”

“No,” he confirms, “given that I am the first of my species, and have been the leader of my people since, no.”

“Right. Handy, that,” Peter points out, finishing his overpriced sandwich.

“Given that we were enslaved by the vampires we had more important worries.”

“Oh. Yeah, shit, sorry.”

“And after, well. It was important to us that no one should be judged for what they are.”

“Except vampires?”

“No.”

“No? Not even the specific one who enslaved you? Thought you were warring with them and things?”

Lucian sighs. There’s a far away look in his eyes. They look blue, now, but he could have sworn they were a greenish grey earlier. He really is quite handsome. And very nice and understanding. A good listener. Someone who for no real reason went out of his way to save Peter’s life. And- And nope. No. Not going there.

“We were. But our real enemies were always the leaders, not those ordered around. Many were raised in that society, and when shown that we, too, are people, they can change. That is not to say, however, that we would not defend ourselves. I have personally taken many of their lives, though our aim was always to avoid conflict. We were too few to truly assemble what you would call an army.”

“Couldn’t you just like, bite more people?” Peter asks.

“We could. But I did not wish to inflict our condition, without downsides as it might be, on those not willing and understanding of what they were choosing.”

“’S pretty nice of you.”

“I had a lot of bad examples telling me what not to do from centuries of enslavement,” Lucian says with a raised eyebrow.

“Right,” Peter nods, “yeah. Good progressive wolf people. I like that.”

“I am happy we have your approval.”

Peter rolls his eyes at him.

“Whatever.”

They sit in silence for a little while, enjoying the sunshine, both subtly watching someone a few tables over having a loud and very emotional break up over the phone. Lucian does so, by the looks of it, with significantly less judgement than Peter. Which is the thing that makes him wonder. What does someone so seemingly morally upstanding see in Aro? Someone who can be, by all accounts, casually cruel without a care? Maybe cruelty towards humans doesn’t count, seeing as Lucian isn’t, and never has been, human. But then, does Peter care about cruelty towards vampires? Against Aro, sure, he wouldn’t want that, but on principle? Is it fair, then, to judge, when he too primarily is concerned with the safety and well being of his own species?

“You’re very nice,” he accuses.

“Err,” replies Lucian, seemingly somewhat unsure why Peter is expressing this as if it were an attack.

“Thank you?”

“No, I mean- Why? Why Aro? You are so… You could do better, I think. Get someone who is more considerate,” he clarifies.

“Are you saying this because then you would have him all to yourself?” Lucian asks, but his voice is kind, understanding.

“No! Well, maybe a little, but like. What is it about him, you know? You should resent vampires, shouldn’t you? Given your history? Not be devoted to the biggest and baddest of them? Is he like the love of your life or something? Gotta be, right, for it to last centuries?”

Peter watches Lucian for a moment, then focuses on tossing crumbs to the birds that the closest table to them is attempting to shoo away. Kindness inspired primarily by spite. That’s as close as he gets to being nice. Much like he fights vampires more because he hates vampires than because he feels it is his personal responsibility to save their victims. 

“He is not, no. I had- The love of my life died many centuries ago. She, too, was a vampire. A vampire princess, fierce and deadly and gentle and beautiful. And I suppose in some ways Aro reminds me of some aspects of her.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What- What happened? If you don’t mind talking about it?”

Lucian shakes his head. 

“I would rather not, if it is all the same to you. You may ask Aro, he knows.”

“Right. Sorry. Will- yeah. Thank you, by the way. For… For letting me talk this through with you. As I said. Very nice.”

“Surprisingly so for a werewolf?” Lucian asks with a slight smile.

He looks tired. Come to think of it, he has always looked tired. Maybe it’s a thing that happens when you get to be that age. Tired of life. Or maybe he just finds Peter’s company tiring. Or all company. Might very well be the case after near a decade of solitude.

“No, in general. But I mean, based on my image of them- of you, from before I met you, I guess so. Got to admit, not quite sure why you’re being so nice to me.”

“Well, as I said, I am in your debt for allowing me to stay. I do not know that it was Aro’s place to make that offer, that decision for you.”

“It was absolutely not, no, but I don’t think he cares. Well, not as much as he cares about you, anyway. And, besides that, you saved my life. Didn’t need to. Pretty sure it’s me who owes you, now. Allowing someone to crash in my spare room for a little while is no effort. Saving my life is. Don’t feel you- like you need to repay me for anything. Seriously. Saving my life qualifies for lifetime rights to crash when you need to. Well. My lifetime, at any rate. Which if I’m being fair means Aro can crash whenever he likes for like five or six of my lifetimes. Huh.”

“I appreciate that,” Lucian tells him.

“So based on how my life has been going the last while you’ve got like five years maximum to take advantage.”

Lucian laughs softly. There is something so very nice and gentle about him. Totally in opposition to the big scary wolf he turns into. Although, given the handful of times he has hung out with Peter wolf shaped and mostly spent that time half asleep on his sofa, perhaps it was just an unfortunate first impression. Though probably, given the stuff he talks about, what has happened to him, it is only part of what and who he is.

“What happens now, do you think?” Peter asks, leaning on the table, chin resting on his hand, watching the people go by, entirely unaware of all the scary things lurking in the dark.

“We go back, and you and Aro talk more calmly?” Lucian suggests.

“Yeah, gonna need another drink before that’s happening. But I don’t mean that, I mean like… Aro. Do we… If I…”

“Ah,” says Lucian, “yes, I see what you mean. I don’t know. Clearly the two of you need to talk. I can say from experience that relationships built primarily around, ah, more physical acts, those do not tend to last. You need to decide what you want. I think Aro already knows.”

Peter groans.

“Not the simple one step answer I was looking for.”

“No. There rarely is.”


	24. The "Talk"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to give Aro a piece of his mind, which, despite the telepathy, turns out to be a challenge

"Have you calmed down a bit?" Aro asks, presumably to undo any calming that might have happened in the intervening hours.

But Peter has had a few drinks, perhaps unwisely, and so he decides to let this go.

"I'm ready to talk," he replies instead.

Lucian walks past, carrying Peter's laptop, which he is borrowing to see if he can find any news of any of his pack. His fingers brush Aro's shoulder as he walks past, saying something softly in a language Peter doesn't understand. Aro catches his hand, and presses a kiss to the back of it. Peter envies their easy intimacy, the casual touches and clear signs of having known and lived each other for a long time. 

"What happens now?" Peter asks, after Lucian has disappeared into the other room.

"What do you mean?"

Peter nods in the direction Lucian went.

"Him. Me. You. Everything."

Aro looks at him, head slightly cocked to the side, mouth threatening to widen into that little amused smile of his, that poorly guarded delight.

"Are you expecting me to break up with him?"

"No. Lucian doesn't deserve that. And frankly it doesn't seem like you deserve him, he's way too nice to you."

"But I deserve your unwarranted insults and accusations?"

Aro's expression doesn't shift at all, doesn't change to give the impression that this is anything but amusing to him. Being back home has clearly made him a little colder. Or maybe he just doesn't like that Peter is questioning him. He always has, though. Probably when you're that powerful you need someone to question and disrespect you a bit, and Peter is more than willing to procide that service.

"Yep."

"I see. Well. I suppose that is fair. But as for what happens... that is up to you. I have... acquired lodgings for myself and Lucian elsewhere, so you need not worry that we will... impose."

"Right. Good."

Is it good? Peter doesn't know. He knows the prospect of them leaving doesn't fill him with joy or relief. That some part of him wants him to stay. Wants them to stay. He doesn't acknowledge it. That's something to get drunk about later.

"And... and us?"

Aro's face softens at that, smile going from amused to something fonder, more genuine.

"I would like for there to still be an us, if you are amenable."

Peter hesitates. There are so many reasons for this to be a terrible idea, morally, practically, but they pale in importance when he sees Aro. Peter has never been one to resist temptation, to choose the harder road, and once more it is so easy. Aro moves closer, cups Peter's face in his hand, and he can't help but lean into the cool touch, eyes slipping closed without any intervention from his conscious mind.

"I would too," he hears himself say.

It is all too easy to fall for Aro, again and again, for that dark, gothic allure and the moments of sweetness and caring behind the slightly unhinged façade of one who has been alive for longer than any mind should. He leans in to kiss Peter, soft and chaste, and he cannot help but melt into it, into his arms as he presses closer. Aro deepens the kiss, pulling Peter towards him until he is almostnin his lap, his hands clutching at the fabric of Aro's suit 

"I should-" Peter starts, but he looks into bright crimson eyes beneath dark lashes, and suddenly he can no longer think of anything else.

"You should stay," Aro suggests, and Peter nods.

He should stay. Stay here, always, in the arms of this strange and beautiful man. He threads his fingers into Aro's hair, soft and beautiful, and kisses him. He presses against him, wanting- no, neeeding as much contact between them as possible.

This wasn't the plan. The plan was to talk, properly, about being honest, and boundaries, and the practicalities of multiple relationships intersecting. But plans are made to be abandoned, and difficult conversations to be put off.

Aro pushes up the edge of Peter's t-shirt, his chill touch making Peter's skin prickle. He pushes up against Peter, who can feel his hardness through layers of clothes. He groans, and grinds down against it, feeling himself get wet, feeling an aching need deep inside. Aro urges him to lay down, his head against the armrest of the sofa as he pulls down his too tight jeans. He settles between Peter's legs, pushing his hair back, out of the way. Presses kisses, feather light and tickling, up along the inside of Peter's thigh. 

"You are beautiful," Aro murmurs, watching Peter with hunger in his eyes.

It should be terrifying, having a vampire look at you like that, but instead it feels almost as if Peter has some kind of power over Aro. It's intoxicating. He positions Peter's leg over his shoulder, giving him better access, and presses a kiss to Peter's clit. Licks along his folds, fumbles blindly for a moment until he finds Peter's hand, intertwining their fingers. He looks up at Peter, eyes so bright they almost glow as he presses his tongue into him. Peter moans, louder than he means to, inner muscles to trying to squeeze down around the slippery muscle, to keep it there.

"Oh fuck, Aro, please-"

Aro looks very pleased with himself, and to be honest he is well within his right to, as he sucks Peter's clit into his mouth, sliding two fingers into him. He presses up, just right, and Peter bucks his hips, trying to get closer to that pressure. He tangles his hands in Aro's hair, pulling hard enough that were he a human it would definitely hurt him. It is nice not to worry.

The vampire, in a characteristic show of cruelty, brings him almost over the edge before pulling back, cool air hitting Peter's overheated flesh.

"Aro," Peter complains.

But Aro is, inhumanly rapidly, divesting himself of his clothes, and so it is mere seconds before Peter can feel him sliding slowly into him, the pressure and stretch just short of painful. Aro stills, giving Peter time to adjust, and looks down into his eyes. He can feel the gentle, questioning preasure against his mind, and he nods. He doesn't like the mind reading, but fuck if it doesn't make the sex fantastic, and that's a trade he is willing to make right now.

Aro starts moving, thrusting, pulling out nearly all the way before pushing in again, the rhythm almost perfect for Peter. Not quite there, though, so he moves, pushing at Aro, understanding aided by his being inside Peter's mind, until Aro is sitting up and Peter is in his lap, straddling him. 

It crosses Peter's mind, briefly, that Lucian is in the other room, and woth his super wolf hearing is probably aware of everything that is happening. Hell, at this close range a human would be too.

"It's fine," Aro assures him, steoking his cheek, "he won't mind."

Peter isn't so sure, but that thought is not enough to stop him. The coiling tension inside him has subsided some, but he starts moving again, riding Aro, looking down into blood red eyes, feeling hands on his waist, up over his chest, fingers brushing his clit, rubbing at it from the exact right angle, and Peter comes, much more quickly than he was expecting to, throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut.

Aro's hands find their way to his hips, lifting him enough that he can move, fuck up into Peter as he leans his forehead against Aro's shoulder, enjoying the sensation. He feels it, vividly, when Aro comes, that shock of cool release deep inside hot flesh, but it is almost welcome, now.

Aro kisses his head.

"Is it your intention to move?"

"Not yet," Peter murmurs, feeling as though he would be happy never to move again, his limbs having turned to leaden weights in the most pleasant way possible.

He can practically hear Aro's amused smile, as he shifts, moves Peter enough so that he can pull out, fluids trickling down the inside of Peter's thigh. He doesn't move them far, though, simply arranging them so Peter is draped across him, and he himself can rest more comfortably against the cushions.

Does comfort matter when you can't feel pain? Peter doesn't know. The sensation in his mind has, thankfully, receeded, and so his idle question receives no answer. Best that way. Though right now talking feels like too much energy, and it would almost have been useful, only having to think a sentence into being.

At the edge of his mind he can feel worry and regret trying to get in, but he doesn't want to let it, not quite yet. It's not, he realises, good. The way he lets Aro distract and charm him away from the things they need to talk about, but fuck it feels so good. A hand warmed by his own body is stroking his back gently. Peter's nose is pressed into Aro's hair, his face resting partially on cushions and partially on Aro's shoulder. He feels the gentle rise and fall of the dead chest beneath him. It is difficult to truly regret anything, at least until the post orgasmic haze wears off. For now, he intends to enjoy it. Fuck future Peter.


	25. Making Up For Lost Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian enjoys the amount which Aro sparkles

Lucian rests his head on Aro's chest, sighing heavily. A kiss is pressed to his forehead, something gentle murmured to him. They are in the rooms Aro has acquired for them, which happens to be the largest an most expensive rooms in the hotel where Peter lives and works. Aro, originally, had wanted to get the floor just below Peter's flat, but fortunately Lucian had managed to convince him that it was too creepy and invasive even for him, being able to hear everything. 

Aro runs a hand through the fur along Lucian's neck, nails scratching over the skin. He keeps in touch, in literal physical touch, so that Aro can hear whatever Lucian thinks at him. It makes conversation a lot easier when he is like this. When the most he can do is slowly and laboriously type on a keyboard with a single claw. Can't even do that on a mobile phone these days, physical buttons seeming to have gone out of style. 

He had woken up like this, having shifted in his sleep. It doesn't happen too often, but it is nice to feel safe enough not to worry when it happens. Because it still feels weird, weeks later, being human so much. He has gotten out of the habit of it.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Aro asks him.

 _Good,_ he thinks. _Nice being a wolf. Being close to you. Missed you._

"Oh, I have missed you too. I cannot help but wonder, my love, why you did not come to me if you felt unsafe? I believed you to be dead, yes, but you knew I lived."

Lucian makes the motion as close to a shrug as his wolf form gets, shifting so that his head rests on Aro's chest.

_Wanted to get away. Was thought dead. Easier to flee the continent. Then, wolf. Didn't think much. Just keeping hidden. Hunting. Surviving. Easier._

"And why here? The desert does not seem like your preferred setting."

_Started up North. Canada. Stayed for years. Tasty moose there. Got tired of the cold. Doesn't get as hot as summer does back home. Winters colder. Travelled down the coast slowly. Over a year or so. Caught traces of the scent of your kind, first in the North._

Aro nods.

"There is a group of them living there, yes. Posing as humans. Odd people. One of them stayed with the Volturi for a while, but he was terribly set on not drinking human blood, so he did not quite fit in."

Lucian drags claws softly down Aro's side. They leave no marks, as there is no blood that can rush to the surface, but they hold the potential to do real damage. One of the few things that can harm Aro, though they never will.

_May have been them. Travelled on, later. Got here, on my way to the Southern continent. Caught the faintest hint of your scent. So I stayed, trying to track you down. Took longer than I expected it to._

"Yes, I travelled back and forth a great deal between here and Europe. Other parts of the Americas, too. Trying to bring the local vampires into our fold."

_And seducing vampire hunters._

"That too," Aro agrees cheerfully.

"What do you think of him? Now that you have spent some time here."

Lucian shifts, so Aro has a better angle to pet through his fur. It feels so nice, to be touched again. Lycans are not meant to be lonely creatures. And Aro is solidified firmly in his brain as part of his pack. A smaller and separate pack, yes, but still. Someone whose scent feels like home, like safety.

_I think you owe it to him to actually talk seriously about how you plan to make it work with him._

Aro pouts.

"That was not what I meant."

_I know. I like him. He seems... a bit like you._

"Oh?"

_Rich. Dramatic. Set on making poor decisions. Not quite as handsome as you, though._

"No. Perhaps if I turned him he might be. The vampirism does wonders for your looks, you know."

Had Lucian a mouth and face that allowed for it, he would laugh. Still, Aro understands the sentiment well enough. But Lucian feels the need to express himself more clearly, so he rolls off Aro, stretching and changing, fur retreating into body hair, skin growing softer and less grey, fangs and claws disappearing almost entirely. His skull reshaping itself is always the strangest part, even to him, even now. It doesn't feel like something that is supposed to happen.

Before he can say anything, though, Aro is there, kissing him. That is a significant of the human shape over the wolf one. Far better for kissing. And communication. But the kissing part is currently the most important thing. Aro winds his fingers into Lucian's long and perpetually tangled hair, looking, always, as a particularly poorly looked after version of Aro's own.

"I don't think," Lucian says, a few minutes later, after his lips have gone red, marked up by fangs, "that the human would appreciate being a vampire. He seems very against the blood drinking, even after I told him it was possible for him to live off animal blood."

"Ah," says Aro, "you told him that, did you."

"How was I to know what half truths you have told him? If you wish for me to lie for you you will have to actually tell me what information is acceptable for me to give out, you know."

Aro sighs.

"I suppose he was bound to find out eventually. No great harm done. Though I do worry he will decide I am someone he cannot live with liking."

"Have you," Lucian asks, gently mocking, "ever considered becoming a person who might make that choice easier for him?"

"No," Aro replies, without any hint of shame, "I refuse to live off animal blood like some kind of-"

"Animal?"

"Yes. It's terrible."

"I know," Lucian tells him, pushing an errant lock of hair away from his face, "but you are fully capable of living off human blood without taking human life. I think he might settle for that."

"But it's less satisfying that way," Aro complains.

"Yes," agrees Lucian, "but how long will you stay with this human for? They do not have long lives. You could abstain from killing victims for a few short years, decades at most."

Aro looks at him, miserably, as if this is an impossible sacrifice.

"I suppose I could. At least here."

Lucian kisses his cheek.

"You can, my love, I believe in you."

Aro huffs.

"Why is it so important to you I be nice ro him, anyway? Do you not want me all to yourself?"

"Of course I do. But I never will, I know that. And I'd rather the other people be ones I like. Besides. He could be gòod for you. Help you remember a more human perspective."

"Lucian, I have flawless recall of everything that has ever happened to me."

"Except before you were turned," Lucian points out.

"Besides, that is not what I mean. I think he could genuinely be good for you. And you can keep him from getting himself killed within weeks, which seems to be the fate he is headed for with his insistence on fighting vampires too powerful for him."

"He is not good at self preservation, no."

"And he has been kind. Kind and understanding to me, which is not something I am used to experiencing with humans who learn of my nature."

"No, I suppose not. It helps, I think, how long he has known of the supernatural. Or of vampires, at least."

"Very?"

"For decades. I believe one of them, not my kind, you understand, a far inferior strain-"

"Naturally."

"One of them," Aro repeats, "killed his parents in front of him when he was a child."

"I cannot imagine what it would be like to have your parents murdered by vampires," Lucian remarks.

"You were an infant, Lucian. It is hardly the same. You don't even know who they were. Or if the father was human."

"Fine. Yes. But I can empathise with feeling like vampires are the cause of all your troubles."

"We are?"

"You are," Lucian nods, "although you specifically are a source of many good things as well."

He leans in to kiss Aro againpressing close, feeling that odd not-quite-skin texture under his touch. It had been strange, at first. A vampire so entirely unlike the ones he was used to, so drastically different from Sonja. Yet something about the coolness of the skin instinctively feels good to him. The effects, likely, of being raised by vampires 

"Good. I would hate to think I was inconveniencing you."

"Oh, you do. Frequently. But largely you make up for it," Lucian teases.

Lucian rests, once more, in Aro's arms, hus head on Aro's chest. There is a stack of books on the night stand, which judging both by their titles and the faint scent Aro has stolen from Peter. Which makes sense, seeing as their titles suggest they are about ways to identify and capture vampires. All nonsense, more likely than not. Garlic and crosses, things like that. Bram Stoker truly did real vampires a favour, writing all those details into his book.

He ponders, as Aro runs fingers through his hair, what he actually feels about Aro and Peter. Certainly he does mean everything he said, but is an odd feeling, watching it happen so close up. Usually he is able simply not to think about it, to banish the existence of others from his mind, but it is not so easy in this case. Listening to Aro making love to Peter only a room away, it had been... difficult. Although, of course, Aro had made it up to him several times over when they retreated back here. Still it feels as though he ought to come first, by seniority if nothing else. Were Aro not ao vocal and demonstrative about how much he has missed him he would worry that he had grown old and boring to him.

"You could never be old and boring to me," Aro reassures him, having evidently been listening.

"You are, in fact, physically incapable of growing old. Which is nice. That's a significant drawback with humans, don't you think? Their tendency to gradually decay."

"It seems unpleasant and inconvenient," Lucian agrees.

He shifts away from Aro, not far, but just enough so that they are no longer touching. Enough for some more privacy in his own mind. He doesn't feel it invasive, not usually, and there is something reassuring in having someone see everything you are and still wanting you, loving you, but for this specific purpose it is nice to be left alone to his thoughts.

He has been aware, since they began this affair, that Aro was married, and that Aro frequently had affairs (as, reassuringly, does Sulpicia, it made him feel less guilty, initially, about the whole thing), but it was still strange, in the beginning. Not a concept he was used to. But he has grown used to sharing Aro. To only having him, being with him, part of the time. And he does not get jealous. He simply mostly wishes not to be aware of it.

"You know," Aro says, obviously thinking in somewhat the same vein as him, "I saw in Lucian's mind that he has thought of the three of us, together. For sex, I think not romantically."

"Yes? Must be ideal for you. Getting everything you want, eceryone you want."

"Yes," Aro agrees lightly, "it would. But would you?"

Lucian shrugs.

"He is handsome enough. And you seem to enjoy it with him, so he must be decent in bed. I would not mind."

"One would hope for more enthusiasm," Aro complains.

"When asking one's current lover to join in with oneself and one's new lover?"

"Yes! That is not so much to ask, is it?"

Lucian laughs at the ridiculous vampire sharing his bed. Aro looks only midly insulted.

"The fact that you desire several people at once does not mean everyone does, my love. But as I said, I would be happy to join in. It would feel, I think, less like being excluded from something. For both me and Peter."

"Excellent," Aro announces, and kisses him, "now if I can only make the human get over his silly moral quandaries."

Lucian sighs.

"Just stop killing humans, for a little while. It is not that great a sacrifice. I haven't killed a human in... does being responsible for their death by unethical experiments with vampire blood count even if I turned a scientist to do the actual experimenting?"

"Probably, by Peter's impossible standards at least."

"Well. Then it has still been nearly a decade since the last time, and I am fine. It's easy."

Aro falls back against the pillows with a heavy sigh.

"It is unfair. Do you think I might demand he kill no vampires in return?"

Lucian looks at him for a moment.

"You were- you were paying him to kill vampires for you."

"Yes?"

"I- yes. Yes, sure, you might request he abstain from hunting. I feel sure he will think it a little hypocritical, but I do think he will understand."

"Unfair," Aro mutters again, glittering faintly as the curtains move in the gentle breeze outside, letting in a glimmer of sunlight.

Lucian kisses the sparkling spots of skin.

"I think you will find that most relationships require some sort of compromise."

"Even this one?" 

Lucian kisses him again.

"Even this one."

Aro pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. Lucian extricates himself from his arms enough so that he can reach behind him, pulling the curtains open enough so that Aro sparkles before him.

"It has been so long since I have seen you shine," he explains at Aro's confused look, "I like it."

And Aro does not seem to mind it, because he tugs him into another kiss, shifting him until their chests are pressed together, Lucian's heart beating against the silence within Aro. Lucian feels fangs against his lips, leaving a trail of little sharp bites down his throat, which heal immediately. They had worked out long ago that they are both immune to each other's condition, which is handy when at least one of them has fangs and a tendency to get a bit bitey during sex. 

Lucian throws his head back, giving Aro better access to these tiny tastes of his blood. They are also inedible to each other, lycan blood doing nothing for vampires. Which is probably for the best. And vampire flesh tasting like dust and rocks to lycans. Not that Lucian has tried eating any of Aro's kind, but he has bitten his fair share of them in battle, ripped off a head or two with his teeth.

Lucian feels Aro's cock, hard against his own, and presses into it, needing more. He reaches a hand blindly towards the nightstand, where a tube of lube sits next to the stack of books. Mostly for his own sake, Aro would be fine. Technically so would Lucian, but it would not be particularly enjoyable, as they had found out once, having had to make do without. Not as unsuccessful as the time, quite early on, when Aro insisted they try it with Lucian in his wolf shape, though. Just, he had said, to see what it was like. Not particularly good for either of them, it turned out the answer was. 

Aro closes his eyes as Lucian slides a slick finger into him, quickly adding a second. Though it is not technically necessary for him, he does seem to enjoy the feeling. He lazily strokes himself all the while. Lucian kisses his chest, his neck, up along his jaws. Oh, he really has missed being with Aro a lot. After nearly two decades they have a lot of lost time to make up for.

Slicking himself up, he presses into Aro, not needing to take it slow for either of their sakes, but doing so anyway. Drawing the experience out, wanting to make Aro desperate for it. Wanting to make him beg. 

Aro's flesh may be cold, but Lucian's heat makes up for it, making them perfectly balanced, together. His nails dig into Lucian's skin, encouraging him to move faster, harder. The light pouring in lights him up, making his skin look crystalline and unnatural and spectacularly beautiful. Lucian loves it. Loves all the strange and wonderful things that Aro is.

"You are a wonder," he murmurs into Aro's ear, pushing himself deep inside of him, feelig the tight wetness against him, the tension near the breaking point already.

"As are you love," Aro replies, drawing him into a deep kiss, fangs kocking against each other with their movements.

It feels right. Feels right to be back with Aro, to be in his arms, inside him, to be enveloped in his essence.

Lucian's hips stutter, and still, and he reaches his release, spilling into Aro. Reaches down between them, pushing Aro's hand away and wrapping his own around Aro's cock, stroking him till he too comes, his come splattering over both their stomachs. He pulls out of Aro, and he disappears to find something to wipe them clean with, before settling next to Lucian.

"I've missed you," Lucian tells him again, looking up with marvel at his luminous lover.

"And I you," Aro replies again, punctuating his statement with a kiss.


	26. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which very little is settled at all

“And the thing is, right,” Peter says, gesturing grandly from where he is, draped across an armchair with his head hanging down, “is why does it matter? Like he’s gonna kill anyway, right? I’m not going to be able to take him out because he’s like insanely powerful, so whatever I do, the bad thing is going to happen the exact same amount, right, whilst if I get with him then I might, over time, influence him for the better and less murdery, right?”

“It sounds like you’re mostly trying to justify the fact that you want to be with him,” the reply comes, rudely.

“I’m not! Well, maybe a little. I mean, none of this was my intention. Didn’t want to get involved with a vampire, obviously. Hate them. Mostly hate them. Really, really don’t hate him.”

“Even though he’s evil?”

Peter makes a noise of disagreement.

“I mean, what is evil, anyway? Can’t help that he’s a vampire, can he? Not like we can demand anyone who gets bitten commit suicide immediately to avoid it? Which, by the way, more or less impossible for these guys. Don’t get on their bad side, because you’ve got no chance. And is doing something to stay alive- or undead or whatever, is that really evil?”

“It is when you eat humans.”

“Sure. Yep. Agreed. But that’s because humans are sapient beings, yeah? And then, does that not also make the slaying of vampires bad? Do they not deserve some sort of process, a chance to change their ways?”

“Not really.”

This conversation is neither as helpful nor enabling of Peter’s worst tendencies as he would wish. 

“Well, I guess if you walk in on someone in the middle of eating a person you sort of have the proof, but… But he’s a person, right, he’s kind. To me, at least, to people he cares about.”

“And also a monster who kills and eats people.”

“All right! Yes! He is a little bit, yeah, but what if I could change that?”

“You think that’s likely?”

Peter shrugs.

“Might happen.”

“You know it’s probably not.”

“Yeah,” Peter admits, looking up at a mostly upside down Charley, who keeps checking his phone anxiously.

“What’s the matter.”

“Amy is coming over,” the kid admits.

“And you’d like me to be gone?”

Charley looks uncomfortable. So yes.

“Right. Well. I get that. Got some vampire related trauma of her own, doesn’t need to listen to me ramble. ‘S fine. I’ll get out of your hair. Tell her hi. Or don’t.”

“Peter-” Charley begins, but Peter has already collected his limbs and is heading for the door.

Probably this stuff is unfair to put on him. But he really is the only person outside of this complicated situation who has even a chance of understanding, who Peter can talk to. And talking to Lucian, while useful, the guy is clearly biased. Has to be. Even if it seems to be in Peter’s favour a bit, which is odd. And nice. 

He sits down at a café on the way back, buying the biggest, most sugary and highly caffeinated drink they have. The barista gives him a look that indicates she might think he isn’t entirely okay. She might be right. 

It’s been a few days since he utterly failed to talk to Aro, and he hasn’t seen him since. He received a text from Lucian, announcing that he now had a number at which he could be reached, should Peter need to. Well, he assumes it’s Lucian, since he mentioned Aro, and signed with a wolf emoji, but did not put his name. He wonders where they are. Probably somewhere in a nice fancy hotel in the city. In his head he sees the two of them, wrapped up in each other in a vast fancy bed, somewhere decorated like a castle. Which is likely tricky to find around here. Not a lot of castles in America. All the colonising and genocide must have happened a bit after the peak castle building days in Europe. 

Despite what he had talked about with Charley, currently his main concern is more whether he can deal with the sharing. As he had argued, whether he is with Aro or not has no impact on how many people will die, and perhaps he can even nudge him in a less murdery direction. It still bothers him, of course it does. It’s horrifying and monstrous, but it is so terribly easy to pretend it isn’t happening when it doesn’t, not in front of him. He hasn’t actually seen him harm any human. Well, maybe himself, but only emotionally. And plenty of humans do that. Granted, plenty of humans murder each other, too.

Can he do it? Can he be in a relationship with someone who is in at least two other relationships, too? Is it hypocritical of him if he can’t? While he has not been in a poly relationship himself, he and Ginger would frequently bring in a third party. Just for sex reasons, because, well, threesomes are hot, but that’s not quite the same. He isn’t sure whether he can do this without getting jealous, without doing something stupid. Is it unfair to Aro to enter into it if he can’t promise he can be okay with it? Then again, how is he meant to ever know if he doesn’t try? Is it more of an insult to him never to try? And since when does he care so much about that infuriating man’s feelings? Well, since this autumn, probably. Not consciously or willingly, but all the same.

 _hey. Can we talk? And I mean actually talk, not (eggplant emoji, water drop emoji),_ he texts Aro later, when he gets home.

It’s just before sunset when he sends it, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble for the vampire, at least if he has time, to get here. And time he has, evidently, because within half an hour, after darkness just has settled over the city, not quite breaking through the persistent lights down there, Peter hears the lift coming up. He still hasn’t given Aro the code, and he keeps changing it, but perhaps Aro simply reads the information in his mind when Peter isn’t paying attention. And yes, clearly they need to have a talk about boundaries, but this time he has waited until he was invited, and even before he has deigned, the last while, to announce his intention to arrive, which is a start. As Lucian suggested, it’s probably going to be a slow and frustrating process making Aro change, but at least there are little signs that he might be willing to, however slowly.

“Aro.”

“Hello, Peter.”

He watches him approach, a little apprehensive, almost worried Aro will pounce on him. But he doesn’t. He does lean in to kiss Peter’s cheek before sitting down, hands folded in his lap, watching Peter expectantly. Peter takes a deep breath. Sits down in an armchair opposite, deliberately out of touch range. Looks at Aro. He looks the same as always, looks good, his face entirely neutral in a way that is almost intimidating, though Peter doesn’t think it is intended that way. An effect, perhaps, of spending his unfathomably long life intimidating people into doing as he says. Probably he is just leaving the setting of the tone up to Peter. He wonders when he started affording him this much generosity in assumptions.

“Have you had some time to think, to work out how you feel?” Aro asks, when Peter fails to start talking.

“Mnyeah. Sort of. More. I did, you know, last time too. Only Someone sort of sabotaged me.”

“Yes, my apologies for that,” Aro replies, looking incredibly smug and unapologetic.

“Look, obviously, you know, enjoyable. Had a good time. But you can’t keep distracting me with very good sex whenever I try to have a conversation with you.”

“I am glad to hear the sex was very good.”

Peter groans.

“Really not the point.”

Aro looks amused, and Peter sighs. He can quite help it being a fond sigh, though, at this stupid ridiculous and somehow also very charming vampire. It becomes hard to remember all his very good counter arguments when he’s with him, which isn’t necessarily a good thing, he knows, but honestly, can he expect anything else in trying to work out a relationship with an ancient scary monster? A surprisingly nice ancient scary monster, but one nevertheless. It’s not as if most of Peter’s normal human relationships have been that great, anyway. Fucked up if he’s got higher standards for one starting up this weird, isn’t it?

“I know. I will resist your charms, my dear,” and though it’s phrased like he’s making fun of Peter, it sounds genuine.

Something to do, maybe, with old fashioned or more formal ways of speaking. Either way, Peter appreciates it.

“Have you decided, then, what it is you want?”

“Well, yeah, told you last time. Want to figure out some way to make it work, right. But I need you to work with me on that. Like, you know, being honest about stuff, like the amount of people which you are currently in a relationship with.”

Aro nods.

“Yes, I do realise, in hindsight, that I ought, perhaps, to have told you sooner.”

“Or at all.”

“Or at all,” he agrees, “but I can assure you, it is only Lucian, and Sulpicia, my wife. And, I hope, you. I did not realise, when we started to become… closer, that it would get this serious. And so I did not think it necessary to tell you. And then, suddenly, it seemed to late to tell you, with very little time in-between.”

“Right,” Peter says, “yeah, I can sort of see how that would happen, but I still think you could have been more forthright about that. Or like at least wear a wedding ring or something.”

“We do not all adhere to your human standards,” Aro replies, a little defensively.

“Yeah. Right, I- Still, though.”

It becomes hard, in conversation, to keep his footing on the high ground of his morality. It’s not the place Peter usually finds himself, in relation to others. And he finds himself seeing Aro’s side, very firmly, and once more the paranoia creeps in, just a little, that Aro is somehow doing hypnotism on him. But that’s not the case, is it? It’s just been a while since he was infatuated enough with someone for that to happen all on its own.

“I will attempt to be more open with you, yes.”

“I- good. Yeah. Good. And- and how does it work? Everything? Like, with you and Lucian and you and me and you and your wife. Are you- how long are you staying? Are you going to like- I mean you’re based in Italy, right? And does Lucian go with you? Far as I understand he can’t go back home to Budapest because whatever the fuck weird vampire lycan war thing went down.”

“He cannot, no. Or does not feel comfortable doing so yet,” Aro confirms, “nor, due to my ties with his enemies, does he feel safe returning to Volterra with me. I am working on setting him up with an identity acceptable to humans, so he can stay in the Americas a little easier, without hiding in the mountains. And perhaps to make sure you do not get yourself killed when I am away.”

“Hey,” Peter complains, “unfair. I know how to take care of myself. Mostly. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Aro looks doubtful.

“And anyway, how can you be allies with his enemies when you love him? Isn’t that a bit fucked up?”

“Perhaps,” Aro admits, “a little bit, yes. But I am not the sole head of the Volturi. There are three of us, and ancient treaties and agreements. I cannot simply declare them our enemies on a whim. They are less powerful than us, yes, but still have the capacity to do much damage should they choose to. Besides, it has been easier for me to help Lucian and his people using the knowledge I have gained from them. And, excepting a very brief period a decade past, Lucian is, and has been, thought to be dead. I cannot invoke his name to defend my position, or I would put him and his people at risk. And they are still out there, some of them, even if they are far fewer than before, and more spread out. I have been attempting to pull information from my contacts back in Europe, especially when I was there, to reach out to them, to let them know Lucian survived, even if he cannot at present return. Which, for your information, would put my position at risk should it come out widely.”

“Oh. Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“Our lives have grown quite complicated, I fear, over the centuries. So he will have to stay here. And I, too, will attempt to spend more time here in the states, for both of your sakes. And I realise this might be challenging for the both of you, but you did seem to get along fairly well, so hopefully it can work.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter mutters.

He feels oddly chastised, childish for assuming his problems were more serious, but he keeps forgetting these two people are, in their world, the world of the supernatural, very important people. And he is just a pointless man making stupid shows and being so bad at hunting vampires he has repeatedly fallen into bed, not to mention other things he is not quite ready to put into words yet, with one. He hates this feeling, this crushing realisation of his own insignificance. He wonders, once more, what Aro really sees in him, other than the novelty of fucking a vampire hunter. Then again, he might very well have done so frequently. He’s had an easy enough time seducing Peter.

“But, okay,” he begins, determined to set some sort of boundary, gain back some of the righteousness he went into this conversation with, “I need you to be better at communicating stuff, still. And not just appear in the middle of my home unexpected like some kind of freaky ghost. Which, yeah, you’ve gotten better at, but still. There’s so much weird shit going on between… between everything, so you know. Use your words.”

Aro smiles at him, light glinting of fangs, just enough to be a reminder of the danger he is. But it is also a smile that makes Peter’s insides feel like jelly, that makes him want to do what Aro did last time. Maybe a little later there will be time for that. Consummating their agreement, or something. Better than any blood related oath, given that one of them has venom running through his veins.

“I will attempt to be better at that, yes,” Aro promises.

“Yeah? I- I appreciate that,” Peter tells him, “and you being, you know. Willing to… don’t know. Sort of compromise a bit? I didn’t…”

“Didn’t expect that from a very old creature of the night?” Aro finishes with a raised eyebrow.

Peter shrugs uncomfortably.

“Something like that, yeah. Sorry. I’m not… This whole situation, I hope you understand, is really fucking weird for me.”

“I know. I understand, Peter. It is a lot for humans to take in, and I will attempt to move at whatever speed you are comfortable with. Even if it feels unnaturally slow for me. But I do realise human life spans are terribly short, and time must seem slower to you.”

“Uh,” Peter responds intelligently, “I guess? Appreciate it, though. Cause I do want to try. And I- can I ask one more thing of you?”

“You can. I may not, however, grant it.”

And that’s the issue, isn’t it.

“I know you- you eat humans. Well, drink us? Drain us. And I know you’re not gonna stop, or switch to animal blood, I’m not expecting to force you to do that. But can you, when you’re here, with me, can you do it without killing people?”

He watches Aro’s face, worryingly neutral, waiting anxiously for an answer, because really, that is kind of his deal breaker.

“I will do my utmost to avoid it,” Aro says, which is probably as good as it’s going to get.

“Right, then. Okay. Good. That’s… yeah.”


	27. Golden Morning Light (At Four In The Afternoon Because Everyone Is Nocturnal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some soft vampire/vampire hunter time

Peter awakes from a confusing dream of monsters lurking in his bedroom. Which is quite on point, because when he manages to ease open a single eye, Aro is in the bed next to him. Although he has doubtlessly noticed Peter awakening, he is still reading something. One of Peter’s books, he notices, on the identification of vampires. A translation of an eighteenth century work. Doubtlessly wrong on every count.

The light is streaming in through the window, which must be Aro’s work, because Peter keeps the curtains to his bedroom perpetually closed. Due to the angle, none of it is making Aro’s skin light up, but it is nice to see him in daylight anyway. It does emphasise his pallor, and so makes his bright crimson eyes stand out all the more, his hair too darker by comparison. Like Snow White, only undead. Which hey, she slept in a glass coffin for ages, that’s pretty vampiric too.

“Have you slept well?” Aro asks, not looking up from his book.

“Mmm. Waking up is less bad than usual, if that counts.”

Peter shifts, moves so he is resting against Aro, face pressed into cool, matte skin. Throws an arm over Aro’s stomach. It is, he concludes again, very nice to wake up not alone. They had, after they talked last night, perhaps predictably, gone to bed together. Which was nice. They had taken their time more. Something more akin to love making than fucking, perhaps. Gentler. Less frantic.

“Learning anything useful?” Peter asks, kissing a spot between Aro’s ribs.

“Oh, yes. Apparently if you empty a bag of grains in front of me, I will be compelled to count them all, frozen in place by it until the sun comes up and I burn.”

“Well, has anyone tried?”

“They have not.”

“There you go, then. Might be true. Except for the burning bit.”

“My mind is superhuman. I would count them in seconds.”

“Sure you would,” Peter agrees, looking up at Aro with a lazy smile. 

Aro, at last, puts the book down, and moves so he can kiss Peter. It’s a soft kiss, an affectionate kiss, and it’s making Peter’s heart stutter a little bit. Aro pets through Peter’s hair, tugging him closer. Peter lets him, lets himself enjoy this moment. Because despite their agreement of the night before, there are still questions, still issues, very clearly. But for now, maybe it can just be nice to feel appreciated. To soak up the nice feelings like a sponge and hope that they last.

“Are you staying here long?”

“In your bed or in the States?”

“Yes. Either. Both.”

“I shall stay right here as long as you like, within some sort of reason, but I have to travel back to Volterra in three weeks, I fear. For a shorter time, but still. My apologies.”

“Hmm. What if I demand you stay here in my bed for a month?” Peter asks, trying not to grumble too much.

“I should think you would get terribly tired of me,” Aro replies, “endlessly fascinating as I of course am.”

“Yeah, probably,” Peter agrees.

He wonders if Aro has stayed the whole night with him, or whether he simply knows to return to bed shortly before Peter wakes up. He wouldn’t blame him. Watching a human sleep for seven hours probably has limited entertainment value.

“Isn’t it fucked up?” he asks, “you know, not being able to sleep? Not being able to turn your brain off for a bit? Don’t you miss it?”

“A little,” Aro admits, “especially when with those of you who retain that ability still. But it has been so long now, so very very long, that I am quite used to it. After all, it is quite beneficial having even more time.”

He kisses Peter’s forehead.

“Besides, you have nightmares quite loudly, and almost every night, and I do not miss that.”

“You see them?”

“If I touch you, yes. I can’t not. They are quite intense.”

Peter looks away.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“What you are in my dreams sometimes.”

Aro smiles, kindly.

“That is not your fault. I know what I am, and I know how you feel about me. And I know what vampires have done to you. Dreams are not a choice you make. Or I imagine you would spend less time reliving the murder of your parents.”

“True,” Peter admits, “still. Most people don’t have to watch it.”

“I do not have to, either. I choose to. I like to think that perhaps my touch can bring some sort of comfort to you. To know you are not reliving these horrors alone.”

Which uncharacteristically sweet. Or is it even uncharacteristic any more? Is it just what Aro is like sometimes? Either way Peter thanks him, and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Aro strokes his back, soothing and gentle. It is so easy to be with him, is the thing. So easy to forget what he is, and to just enjoy this. Enjoy him. Enjoy their time together.

They get up, eventually, and as Peter makes himself breakfast (A very large coffee, and, at Aro’s admonishing that he needs actual nutrients and not just caffeine, a banana), Aro gets a bag of human blood out of Peter’s fridge, which is deeply worrying.

“Aro,” Peter calmly asks as he pour the blood into one of Peter’s mugs, which by a complete coincidence Peter is never using again, “why is there human blood in my refrigerator?”

“Because it doesn’t do well kept in room temperature,” Aro replies simply.

“Right. Yes, I get that. But why is it… here?”

“Would you prefer me to eat one of your neighbours?” Aro asks.

“I- well. No. But-”

“Or yourself?”

“Not my blood. But what you, uh, ate last night was- well. Anyway. You are free to do that again.”

Aro looks delighted. A streak of blood runs down the side of the mug, and Aro’s tongue darts out to lick it away. Were it not the blood of an actual human person it would be quite hot. God that’s weird. What Aro is drinking was literally running through the veins of an actual person. Wild. Horrifying.

“I went out,” Aro explains, “while you slept, and I thought this would help to reassure you I am attempting to keep my word.”

“Oh. Uh. Good. Yeah.”

“You do know I drink blood. It should not come as a surprise.”

Peter shrugs, sitting down at one of the stools by the island, leaning over his coffee and tries to inhale it.

“I know. It’s just… It keeps kind of hitting me again. Still need to get used to it. Got to try to think about it as… as normal. Even though I don’t really want to, you know. Don’t want to get used to the idea of drinking blood as normal, because I don’t really… I mean it’s not great. But I get that you need to. Or want to, I guess. And I know… I know I’m not really going to be able to do something about that.”

“You are not,” Aro confirms, “while, as Lucian helpfully revealed to you-”

Peter laughs at the face he makes, clearly having planned on Peter not finding out. Which yes, is super bad, but also quite funny. 

“I can survive on animal blood, it is not pleasant. It is like eating only… what are things human dislike these days?”

“What, like a nutrient shake or something? Meal replacement stuff? Soylent?”

“I am not entirely certain what any of those mean, but yes, I think, something like that. I already cannot consume anything but blood. I am not going to limit myself to that. And I do not like my eyes going yellow.”

“Sorry what?”

“If I live only on animal blood my eyes will turn yellow. Or golden, I suppose, rather than red.”

Peter squints at him, trying to imagine what that would look like.

“Mm. No. Not sure that would be a good look for you. Doesn’t match your accessories.”

He would prefer it. Of course he would! Not visually perhaps, but it would mean that so many of his issues with Aro would disappear. Sure, he would still have committed the atrocities he has, but at least it would be a change. But as Aro says, he is not, and that is simply something Peter will have to try and see if he can live with.

“What is it with your kind of vampire and your eyes changing colours based on your diet, what are you, related to flamingos?” he asks instead.

Aro sighs.

“How would I know why we are the way we are, Peter?”

“You’ve had millennia to do so?” Peter suggests, taking a drink of his coffee and appreciating the way the indirect sunlight makes Aro’s skin look almost translucent, “I mean, some of you must be scientifically inclined, yeah? Interested in that shit? I realise humans didn’t invent good science until pretty recently, and even that is arguable, but shit, you have people who live for thousands of years, that is so much time for experimentation, for learning, surely someone must have worked out something?”

“We have, yes, but you humans have something we do not.”

“Yeah?”

“A never ending supply of corpses.”

“Err.”

“For dissection and learning about the workings of bodies.”

“Ah. Right. Yeah, do see how that helps with working shit out. Can’t imagine you being all that far above just straight up vivisecting someone you didn’t particularly like.”

Aro hesitates to reply, which is answer enough.

“Perhaps not, but strictly practically speaking it would be terribly impractical. Our bodies are not soft and sliceable, like yours.”

“Soft and sliceable,” Peter repeats, “that’s me, yep.”

Aro walks closer, leaning over his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

“Your softness is a delight for more reasons than ease of vivisection, I assure you.”

“Possibly the most worrying compliment I have ever received,” Peter grumbles, but Aro’s arms are around his shoulders and he leans his head back to allow himself to be kissed further, so the façade rather falls apart. 

“Well, you must expect this, if you are to be romantically involved with ancient monsters,” Aro sagely points out.

Peter grabs at the hand over his chest, not turning to look at Aro’s face. Squeezes it.

“Hey, I’m- I’m sorry. It’s unfair of me to call you that. You’re really not. At least, not to me. Not in any way I’ve seen. A very efficient killing machine, sure, but I’ve not seen you hurt anyone other than other vampires. And- I know that probably you have done a lot of shit that would absolutely horrify me. I realise this, but I don’t know, and it’s unfair of me to assume-”

“It really is not,” Aro interjects.

“Shut up, I’m trying to be nice! Anyway. Yeah. I want to apologise. And to promise I won’t do it any more. Because you have been nothing but- no hold on, that’s not true. You’ve been a solid amount of nice and helpful and creepy and demanding to me, but still. I ought to be nicer to you. Might rub off on you.”

“You are welcome to rub off on me whenever you want,” Aro replies, and Peter groans.

There is a soft, cool kiss pressed to the side of his neck, just where one might imagine a vampire would want to bite.

“But I appreciate it,” he murmurs into Peter’s ear.

Peter shifts in his grasp, getting off the stool and turning around, Aro’s arms still around him. Bright red eyes, even more so than earlier. The colour of the blood he just drank. They are looking into his, and the intensity almost makes Peter look away. Instead, he slides his arms around Aro’s waist, and kisses him. Cool hands hold him close, and Aro’s mouth tastes like blood. It isn’t terribly pleasant, and Peter winces at accidentally tasting someone else’s blood on Aro’s tongue, but he pushes the thought away. He can enjoy himself while Aro is here, then go back to being angry at him when he goes back to Italy. Yeah. That sounds like a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I accidentally took a week off from writing this but if it helps it's 31 days since I last updated my other active fic which is also horrible.


	28. Abandonment Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro leaves, once more,

The three weeks Aro stays are good. Peter keeps to his word to himself, to just spend this time enjoying himself. It’s easy. Too easy. Aro spends a lot of time with him, although he splits it with time spent with Lucian, helping him try to settle here. Presumably he also does some secret, important vampire stuff. This time, Peter very deliberately does not try to find out. It isn’t something he can do forever, this pretending, but for a short while it is easy enough.

They have sex a lot, perhaps unsurprisingly, but they spend a lot of time talking, too. Aro tells Peter about his past, about the times he has lived through, all the places he has been, and how they have changed. He doesn’t, Peter notes, tell him much about the Volturi. He wonders whether it is because he doesn’t trust him. When Peter suggests that Aro might show him Volterra once, he deflects, suggesting Rome instead, despite Peter’s claims that he has been. Admittedly that was when he was seventeen and he is pretty sure he was drunk for the duration, but it still counts.

He spends the night before he leaves with Peter, which he appreciates. Peter gets to fall asleep in Aro’s arms, but when he wakes up the following noon, he is alone. There is a note, though. Or, well, there is a letter, folded in on itself and sealed with red wax, stamped with the Volturi V. That’s why he wears that ring, huh. It is written in his stupid beautiful handwriting, and promises Peter that he will call, and will let him know when he knows when he can return, as well as asking him whether he would be so kind as to help Lucian with any questions he might have about settling in. Which of course Peter is going to, would do anyway. Peter uses a knife to neatly slice of the seal without breaking it, and, realising he is being just horrifically and embarrassingly sentimental, sticks both it and the note in the drawer of his night stand.

He feels a bit empty, that day. A bit lost, and abandoned, after spending so much time with Aro his absence feels much sharper and more acute. The day seems to stretch out endlessly before him, and he moves between different wastes of time, getting bored of each in ten minutes or less. He has a show that night. He still does. Luckily. He doesn’t know what he would do without it. The numbers are still not great, and they are still on him about making some improvements to the show, but at least he has convinced them that he’s working on it, and that it needs to stay within the realm of vampires.

Lucian texts him the next day, asking if they can meet, if Peter has some advice on blending in among humans. Which, obviously, he probably does. He has, after all, been one all his life. He arrives not too long after Peter replies, and again he wonders exactly where these lodgings Aro has gotten them are. Why choose somewhere so terribly central? But that, it turns out, is part of what Lucian needs his help with.

“…You don’t know how to find somewhere to live?”

Lucian looks a little defensive.

“I do! It’s just that apparently humans do it differently. You can’t just find a poorly defended castle and take it over by a mixture of force and recruitment these days.”

“But- but you have to have moved, right? I mean, you said you were in Budapest, it’s not like a bunch of wer- lycans can live unnoticed in a castle in the middle of a city, is it?”

“No,” Lucian admits, “but our headquarters were under ground. Abandoned tunnels. We set it up quite well, after a while, but it is not as if it was a place we bought with money. And we always had newer lycans, who had been human relatively recently, who could help take care of such matters. I kept to more strategic decisions. I know about buying fire arms illegally. And scientific equipment. And how to forge a sword. Just not how to, well, blend in with humans these days.”

“Right,” Peter says, slightly unnerved by some of these details, “okay. Well, lucky for you, I’m pretty good at being human. Err. Place to live. Lets start with that, as you said. Where are you staying now?”

Lucian hesitates, not quite looking Peter in the eye.

“Lucian?” Peter prompts.

“Aro rented rooms in this hotel,” Lucian eventually replies.

“Of course he did,” Peter sighs.

That does explain a great deal. Such as how Aro has been able to keep such a close eye on him, how he seems to appear out of nowhere. Fuck what if he’s been doing that the entire time? God that’s creepy.

“Only since he got back,” Lucian assures him, seemingly understanding Peter’s worry, “I don’t know where he stayed before.”

“That’s- okay. Slightly less creepy, but okay. Right. And is he- uh. Hard to ask this normally, but is he like, paying for everything for you?”

Lucian nods.

“He made me a fake identity, set me up with a bank account and things humans have.”

“Right. Good start. How much money did he give you?”

Lucian shows him. Peter’s eyebrows rise. It’s probably enough to that he could buy this penthouse if he wanted to. Aro is ridiculous. Peter wonders if he can get this too, if he asks. Probably not. Probably he would make even worse choices than he currently does. And look, he lives for free and he makes decent money, but he has acquired some pricey habits. And if he does quit the show he will have to very significantly cut back, if he doesn’t get an equally lucrative job.

“Good- good start. Yeah. Okay. And are your tastes anything like Aro’s?”

“Oh. No. I just need somewhere to stay. Preferably unnoticed, somewhere without security cameras.”

“Oh, we can find you a place like that, yeah, no problem. You ought to have some sort of fake job, though, probably. I mean, clearly you don’t need one, but just to blend in. Have something to tell people if they ask.”

“Right,” Lucian says, frowning, “what jobs do humans have?”

Peter blinks.

“Okay, I’m going to need some coffee for this.”

Ten minutes later, they are both working on getting more caffeinated, both looking at Peter’s laptop. He’s sitting very close, for laptop viewing purposes. Peter is very, very aware of it. And of the way in profile, if he straightened his hair and shaved, he would look quite a lot like Aro. How that plays into Peter’s already acknowledging that he is quite attractive. But no. That’s a bad train of thought. Friend. Friend is good. Safe. Large wolf friend. Focus on the wolf thing.

“So, what are your skills?” he asks, though without much hope of getting a useful answer.

“Blacksmithing. Hunting. Strategy. Fighting vampires. I’m pretty good with both guns and crossbows.”

“Right. Those are all, of course, excellent. What about like IT? Customer service?”

Lucian looks confused.

“Okay. Yeah. Makes sense. What about…” he hesitates, staring into space for a moment.

“Hey. You know stuff about monsters. And history.”

“I do,” Lucian agrees uncertainly, “but I thought you wanted more human skills.”

“Yeah, no, but like. My show is… struggling, apparently. Which is ridiculous, it’s good as it’s ever been, flawlessly planned and structured, but they want to see me doing something. What if I hire you as like a consultant? On like. The history of folk lore monster stuff? Which you arguably are, right? You have an actual sort of real job, extra source of income, never a bad thing, and I get to be seen to be doing something actually productive with my show, yeah? And you don’t need to actually do anything. Maybe come here and critique my weapon collection or whatever on occasion. Sound good?”

Lucian shrugs.

“If you think it helpful it is certainly something I could accomplish. And if it will help me, ah, blend in, then yes, that would likely be a suitable cover.”

“Excellent. Could get you a fake degree online and everything.”

“If you think it necessary.”

“I mean, can’t hurt, and they’re not that expensive. Yeah. Good.”

Satisfied with this clearly flawless solution to some of both their problems, they start looking at flats. There are a couple they find that seem to fit the bill, central, enough so to be within walking distance of Peter’s place, but relatively cheap, places where one would not be noticed. Large, anonymous buildings. Lucian seems very neutral to all of them, but if the last places he has lived has been various caves, and before that secret tunnels under Budapest, then maybe his standards aren’t terribly high. Though he has, clearly, also lived in castles, but perhaps that is not always as luxurious as Peter imagines.

A few hours later, they have a decent list of options, and Lucian has a cheat sheet of things humans are supposed to care about. It’s a bit odd, Peter thinks, because other than his not dying for centuries and turning into a wolf once in a while, Lucian seems, at least physically, far more human than Aro is, despite his, unlike the vampire, never having been one. But then, as Lucian explains, he would be perfectly capable of blending in with humans in the fifteenth century, only the way humans live appears to have changed somewhat in the intervening years.

Peter leans back from the computer perched on the coffee table, and the now long list of saved listings, rolling his shoulders and groaning. Lucian raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Peter demands, “human shoulders get upset when you sit bad, we can’t all have magic eternally perfect health bodies.”

“Seems inconvenient,” Lucian remarks.

“It is. Do envy you the magic healing thing, that seems a nice perk.”

“Not the immortality?” Lucian asks, surprised.

“Intertwined, aren’t they? But nah. Or maybe? Not sure I’d be able to put up with myself forever, tell you the truth. Better for everyone, this way.”

Lucian looks as if he is about to argue, or ask further, so Peter counters with a question of his own.

“Does Aro always do this? Just go off and leave you?”

“Sometimes,” Lucian says, “but I have never expected us to be together on any sort of permanent basis. But yes, he always comes and goes. And he does not tend to bring me to Volterra, and even there he keeps a separate apartment for the purpose. Which of course is for the best.”

“It is?”

“As you know, he and my former …masters are allies. And not all of the Volturi are as sympathetic as Aro. It would not do for rumours of my presence there to spread. But that is not to say it does not sometimes hurt, all the same. I would like to be able to be there, I think, but my freedom has always been predicated on my ability to stay hidden, to further the belief that I am long dead. And that, it seems, is not due to change any time soon.”

“That sucks,” Peter says, feeling terribly inadequate, but unable to offer anything better.

“Indeed. But I do understand that you feel somewhat abandoned by him. I do too. But at least, the fact of both of us being here might be enough to keep him returning here often. After all, you being human, he does not have much time left with you.”

“Oi.”

“You said yourself that you guess at five years. And though that might be a little pessimistic, to Aro, it is very short. I have gone twice that time without seeing him multiple times. Which neither of us have been very happy about, but it has been unavoidable.”

“Right. Yeah. I mean, if he stays with me five years, then… I mean. It’ll be the longest cohesive relationship I will have been in. Might be nothing to you, but to me five years is a long time.”

Peter debates whether he can justifiably get a drink.

“I understand. But you need to understand he operates on a different time scale. It is like that for me, too. I was barely three hundred when we met.”

“Practically a kid,” Peter jokes deadpan.

“I know these timespans must seem abstractly vast to you, but there is a significant difference between three hundred and two thousand eight hundred and fifty.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just, as you say, abstract and also absolutely fucking wild, you know. I mean, I guess I’ve known vampires don’t age and don’t die but I don’t- before I met Aro I don’t think I really thought all that much about what it might be like to actually live that long. Live through history in almost its entirety. That’s got to fuck you up.”

“It does,” Lucian confirms.

“Yeah?” Peter asks, “how?”

“I’ve forgotten most of the seventeenth century. The mind can only hold so much, and apparently my limit was the sixteen hundreds. The centuries before and after are fine, but those hundred years or so are very vague for me. And you realise that things do not change, they do not fundamentally get better. Certain things are easier, yes, but people are people, and as miserable and warring and devoted to inequality as they always were. Aro talks of his time as human sometimes, and even two and a half millennia before I was born, it was much the same.”

“Nothing changes?”

“Not people. Not really. The same struggles with different parts and technologies.”

Peter looks down, away.

“Pretty sure I would be doing quite fucking badly if I lived even fifty years in the past.”

Lucian’s voice softens when he replies.

“You are right, some things have most certainly gotten better. And possibilities exist now that were not options before. And undoubtedly some parts of being human have grown much easier. I do not mean to make light.”

“No,” Peter agrees, leaning his head back against the sofa, looking up at the ceiling, and not at the still and continuously surprisingly kind werewolf, “I know. And, y’know, same. I appreciate your being a bit more talkative about this sort of thing than Aro. Most of what he talks about is the things and places and times he has seen, not really what existing in them was like, you know? Like all he’s ever done is float through, observing.”

“Possibly that is what it has felt like to him,” Lucian suggests.

The light is hitting at just the right angle to illuminate him, to make his eyes almost as light as when he goes sort of feral wolf light. Peter turns away again, determined not to feed into what seems to be happening against his will.

“Is it pathetic that I miss him already? He left at some point tonight, and it’s only been hours, but… It’s as you said. Feel abandoned, a bit.”

“It is entirely understandable. And I feel that way too, a little, even if I am more used to it. I’m not, however, used to having nothing left when he leaves, no pack to look after, no- no purpose. It is difficult. He is difficult. Or loving him is. Or both.”


	29. Showtime

Peter is attracted to Lucian, this is becoming more and more clear. His heart starts to race whenever their hands accidentally touch, he keeps accidentally glancing at Lucian, far more than one naturally would, and looking away whenever he is caught, and he keeps blushing. It is all, of course, very flattering, but Lucian isn’t entirely sure how he is meant to feel about it. He knows what Aro wants him to feel about it, naturally. He would like nothing more than for all of them to be a thing. He knows, too, how Peter feels about it, because as much as he tries to hide how he feels, it is very obvious to someone accustomed to reading others. Lucian can tell that it frustrates Peter, and that he would very much like for neither Aro nor Lucian to know. And he knows that at least one of those things are not going to happen. 

It’s not, of course, that Lucian doesn’t understand that being in a relationship with Aro can be both strange and upsetting in the beginning. The mind reading took him a full decade to get used to, although they only met about twice a year during that time. Lucian didn’t trust Aro back then. Of course, he had helped Lucian and his pack out, and he wanted something in return, and that was fair enough. Lucian had not, explicitly, expected for sex to be part of the payment, but Aro was a handsome and alluring man, and he had not let himself be with anyone for nearly a century, and so he had not minded it. It had taken him a few days to realise that Aro was reading his mind, and he had confronted him about it then. Aro, being Aro, had managed to talk his way into how this was, of course, a good and helpful thing that simply made him more able to understand and empathise with the plight of the lycans, and Lucian had let himself believe it. Something in him back then had clearly not entirely gotten out of the habit of respecting vampire royalty. Especially when that vampire royalty helped save his pack and was also really very excellent in bed.

The falling part, it happened a little slower. The first time he stayed with Aro at his behest, it was for a few weeks, before he managed to convince him that he needed to check back on his pack. And though it was nice to see him, when next he was summoned, it was no more than that. Fascinating conversation, absurd levels of luxury, far beyond what even Viktor had, and good sex. And Aro would do things for Lucian. Gift him things, like weapons and resources. Give him information on the movements and plans of the Corvinid vampires. And for the longest time Lucian worried about how to pay him back, certain that he would at some point demand Lucian bite and turn a bunch of humans to act as guards or something similar. Only he never did. All he ever seemed to want was Lucian’s company, for Lucian to like him. And though his suspicions lingered throughout the Renaissance and for a few decades into the Baroque, the catch never appeared. All Aro did was treat him well, help him, and require his company on occasion, something Lucian was happy to supply. And eventually the arrangement turn into something he not only enjoyed, but genuinely wanted. The change was slow, and gradual, and Lucian had not realised he loved Aro until one day, as they lay in bed, and Aro told him that he loved him too, responding to a thought Lucian was barely aware he had. 

So Lucian does not blame Peter for needing time to be okay with this situation, especially in such a short time. No, he fully understands that it is strange and confusing for Peter, and that he tries to resist it, however often he fails. And though Lucian understands his hatred of vampires in general, he himself had to learn that. He had harboured a love for Sonja for as long as he could remember, from they were very young, and though his respect, near reverence, for vampires in general stemmed from internalised hatred of his own people, he always had thought of them as people. And still, of course, does, even if most of those are, or were, depending on the true outcome of the events a decade ago, which he is still not certain of, on the other side of the war. That is not necessarily their fault. With the organisation of covens it is not easy to break away, to exist outside of that. Similarly, though there were lycans who were not part of his pack, having left or been turned by pack members who simply never brought them back, there were never many. He tried to keep track of them, naturally, to make sure they were safe. Given his status as originator of their entire species, he feels responsible for every lycan. He _is_ responsible for every lycan.  


Right now, he is trying to track down a small lycan family he remembers announcing at some point that they were leaving for the States, tired of the war, wanting to escape from the ever present threat of the vampires. He had resented them a little at the time. It had been in the lead up to the events of 2003, and he had been… intense, he realises, in hindsight. He had been obsessed, and unfair, and they had made entirely the right decision, as it turned out. Especially having pups. Tracking them down using the internet, however, is proving to be a challenge.

He is in his new home, which is what Peter had described as “a shockingly shitty place”, but to Lucian it is ideal. Small. Hard to notice. Difficult, given its placement, to break into. The bedroom is small and the bed takes up most of it, and makes it feel like a cave, which is what Lucian wants from a bedroom, he has come to realise. It is not too far from the hotel Peter lives and works in, which is good, because he is heading there in a little while, to see this show Peter is so terribly proud of. As part of his pretend job as a consultant. Of course, Lucian intends to do as good a job as he can. He doesn’t like the idea of taking Peter’s money for nothing, though Peter insists it is not he who is paying. He had explained it, but Lucian had not been paying terribly close attention at the time.

Locating lycans in hiding is not simple. Especially not when he does not know where to look, beyond that he is fairly certain it was America and not Canada, but that might well have changed in the intervening decade. They might not even be on the continent any more for all he knows. He has worked out how to set up alerts for any new articles or mentions of animal attacks, but it is a large continent with a lot of animals, and there are actual wolves here, not to mention a surprising amount of people claiming to see Bigfoot. That, of course, is another hint. Large furry bipedal thing to strange to be a bear? There is certainly a possibility that might be a sighting of a lycan. Peter laughs when he explains this. Lucian doesn’t see the humour.

Aro calls him just as he is about to leave, the city outside lit now by neon and street lights and a distant full moon. Lucian wonders whether Peter checked that before handing him a ticket.

“My darling wolf,” Aro greets him, with a soft sigh, almost like relief.

“Hello, my love, how is everything in the homeland?”

“Terrible,” Aro complains, and Lucian can hear the pout on his voice.

“Yes?”

“But not, alas, in an interesting way. Tell me, will you, how everything is going?”

Lucian shrugs, holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he shrugs on his leather coat. It is not quite the same as his old one, but it works well enough. The fur on the collar is fake, which seems an odd choice for a real leather coat, but next he changes he can kill something, replace it with the fur of his own kill. That feels more right, anyway. He wonders whether butchering small mammals is frowned upon in rented human accommodations these days.

“Well enough. Peter has helped me find a place to live. Which is nice. You know luxury makes me uncomfortable.”

Aro sighs. It is a conversation they have had many times.

“Had Viktor not died I would kill him myself for making you feel you do not deserve boundless riches and all the comfort possible.”

“You had centuries to do so,” Lucian points out.

“I did. But you thought him dead, and then he was spending a few hundreds of years mummified in a locked away coffin, so it did not seem as pressing at the time.”

Lucian smiles, just a little, as he locks the door behind him, and walks down the frankly excessive number of stairs. They have a fondness in America, he finds, for much taller buildings than one frequently finds in Europe. At least in places like this.

“I know, my love. I know. And it is not that, precisely, not only his fault, though I do of course feel he is responsible for nearly every ill in this world, posthumously too. I simply cannot help but associate that sort of excess of wealth with…”

“Vampires like me?” Aro suggests.

“Similar to you. But not you, specifically. It suits you, that sort of thing. It is your element. It is not mine.”

“Fine,” Aro sighs, “and how is he?”

Lucian shrugs, before realising that even for Aro that sort of gesture is difficult to understand in audio medium over a not stellar connection.

“He seems a very angry man, though more at himself than anything else. And you, at times.”

Aro huffs.

“He is not wrong to do so,” Lucian continues, delighting in Aro’s pretence at righteous indignation.

“But I think he is adjusting to- to this whole situation. It is challenging for humans to process, I think. I am going there now, actually. To see that show he makes.”

“Oh? Oh, you must tell me what it is like,” Aro says.

“Surely you have seen most of it in his mind?”

“Oh, I have. And the show itself, but I am interested to hear what you make of it.”

“I will be sure to do so, then,” Lucian promises, barely avoiding getting hit by a car who has a different interpretation of the colour of the traffic light than Lucian.

“I think,” he adds, navigating the sensory nightmare that the centre of Las Vegas is on a Saturday night with some difficulty, “that you ought to talk to him about what you expect from the relationship.”

“I will,” Aro promises, in much the same sullen tone a young child might unenthusiastically agree to do their chores.

Lucian has no intention of telling Aro of Peter’s feelings, but that doesn’t really matter, as Aro will learn from one or both of them when he returns anyway.

“And now I must go, I’m nearly there. I wish you luck and a hasty return.”

“As soon as I am able, I promise. Though things are taking longer than they should. Those who wish to expose us to the humans have gotten better at hiding, it appears. Give Peter my love.”

“I- I will,” Lucian promises, though he feels weird about it.

Is there love? Already? Or is it merely an expression? Not that Lucian is jealous. Of course not. He has no reason to be. It has always been this way. He has never been the only one. Although he has had to remind himself of this more frequently these days than before.

He has to resist the urge to snarl at the people who get too close to him, unused to and uncomfortable with people brushing past him, tight crowds. It is good, he supposes, for Peter’s show, that there are so many people here, but for Lucian it is uncomfortable. He flinches away from every touch, and though this seems to him as something that ought to be expected, people glare in his direction. 

It takes him more time than anyone should need to find his seat, and then there is still a short while before the lights dim, the curtain parts, and the night is filled, allegedly, with fright.


	30. Theatrical Critique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian has Thoughts on Peter's show

Peter’s show is… a lot. There are flames, very scantily clad women pretending to be vampires, and what appear to be quite ordinary illusions. There does not seem to be much of a story, so much as a general setting of some sort of vampire infested cemetery, in which Peter, in his shiny coat and ridiculous wig, pretends to fight vampires and save innocent victims, who all, presumably by sheer coincidence, happen to be very attractive women. Lucian hasn’t seen a live show since last Aro dragged him to an opera in the twenties, though, so he doesn’t mind.

The show is one thing, but the experience of being trapped in a crowd is another, and as the show goes on, Lucian begins to get more restless and uncomfortable. The full moon is out there, trying to pull the wolf out from under his skin, and it is getting to be more of an effort to stop it. His fangs keep slipping out, his eyes going pale, and he has to concentrate for several minutes each time to make them go back to human. The audience around him seem like they are trying to help. All of them are wearing what to them might be subtle perfume, but which to him is overpowering. The lady in the seat next to him has her phone out the entire time, and whispers to the man next to her. And usually, of course, he manages to block these things out, but with the additional strain of resisting the moon and the change, it is tiring, and stressful.

He waits in the lobby, after, until Peter texts him to let him know he can come up to the penthouse. In the lift up, he lets go, a little, enough for his eyes and fangs to show. Peter won’t mind. Probably won’t mind. Peter is by the bar, not surprisingly, in the middle of making himself a drink. He hasn’t taken off all of his costume yet. The coat hangs over the back of one of the arm chairs, but he is still wearing the wig, fake facial hair and strange crucifix tattoos. 

“Hey, want one?” Peter asks, demonstrating a glass full of a suspicious bright green liquid.

“Uh. No, no thank you,” Lucian replies, trying to sound polite rather than mildly horrified.

“Oh- are you- okay?” Peter asks, seeming to notice Lucian’s inhuman features creeping through. 

His nails are halfway to claws, now, and Lucian can feel the prickling of fur threatening to sprout through his skin. He glances at the window, where he can see the moon partially hidden behind clouds. Peter’s gaze follows his, and his eyes widen.

“Oh- oh shit, I didn’t- I thought you didn’t go all wolfy on the full moon? But it wasn’t- I mean, I didn’t realise…”

“I don’t have to,” Lucian tells him, willing his nails to look more human and failing, “but it is- I’m… it is easier to do so. And it is not… usually a problem, I’m just not very… I don’t know. Tired.”

He can’t fully finish thoughts, can’t- not anything, a mixture of stress and fatigue and the relentless pull of the moon too much.

“Shit, uh. Do you need to like, wolf out for a bit? You can if you want to,” Peter offers.

“I- I think I might need to, yes. Thank you. I don’t- I’m not sure I could make it home. I’m not used to all the- the noise, the lights, the everything.”

“Yeah, Vegas is like that,” Peter agrees, “just uh. Feel free to use the spare room to change. Just, it’s uh, it’s kind of…”

“Upsetting?” Lucian suggests.

Peter looks away guiltily.

“Yeah. Sorry. It’s, uh. Totally a natural or super natural thing or whatever, but it’s… a lot of body horror vibes, you know? Kind of… Anyway. Yeah.”

Lucian, while not knowing what half of those things mean, thinks he still understands the gist of what Peter is saying, and so he does as is offered. He takes his clothes of, slightly ripping his shirt with claws that definitely are not nails any more. Folds them neatly on the dresser, fur starting to grow through his skin, his jaw creaking as it starts to shift and elongate. He pulls the curtains open, so he is bathed in the light of the full moon, and lets himself relax.

-

Peter has finished his drink, and is just making another, when Lucian emerges from the spare room, which is still a little bit Lucian’s room in Peter’s brain. It’s still a bit of a shock, seeing the huge and utterly inhuman thing Lucian becomes, padding through the penthouse and into the living room. When Peter follows, after finishing his drink, Lucian is stretched out on the large, J-shaped sofa, managing somehow to take up two thirds of it.

“Better?” Peter asks.

Lucian nods, pitch black eyes watching Peter calmly. Or perhaps somewhere else entirely. It’s hard to tell, what with the total lack of iris or pupil. They almost look like Jerry’s eyes did, but not quite. These are more black, and though the face in which they are set is terrifying, it is far less grotesque than Jerry’s was, when it split open in some bizarre parody of a mouth. Also, at this point, although Lucian’s wolf form looks scary, he doesn’t feel anything but safe to Peter. Just a large monstrous wolf who sometimes sleeps on Peter’s sofa, and who would probably rip a vampire to shreds to protect him. For Aro. But still. Peter is expanding his definition of friend shaped.

They spend a while like that, Peter doing some of the social media aspect of his work, which today involves getting into furious arguments with trolls on twitter about which old vampire films are good. Peter has strong opinions on this, and so does the internet. Lucian appears to be asleep, twitching slightly, baring his teeth, and without thinking, Peter reaches out to pet through the fur on his head. Lucian freezes, eyes opening, a noise like almost a growl.

“Shit, sorry,” Peter tells him, quickly, snatching his hand back, “so sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, didn’t mean to- it’s just you looked sort of very soft and peaceful in a dog kind of way? Not that- Not calling you a dog, I know, rude and bad and probably quite racist. Speciesist? I don’t- I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Lucian huffs, and sort of shrugs, and closes his eyes again. Peter continues watching him guiltily for a moment. It’s got to be a sore spot, hasn’t it? Being told you’re less than human? Lucian hasn’t talked much about being enslaved by the vampires, but he bets that’s the sort of thing they said. Shit, he’s an idiot. But then, that is hardly news. He’s been informed he’s both that and worse by at least thirty different twitter accounts in the last twenty minutes.

Lucian keeps napping, and Peter keeps tweeting for a while, a tense and uncomfortable silence gradually turning more relaxed as he gets swept up in an argument (timely) of what, exactly, constitutes a werewolf, courtesy of that one scene in Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992).   
Peter briefly considers asking, but he’s already accidentally called him a dog, and implying he’s a werewolf despite the distinction he has clearly laid out is probably a bad idea. Also, talking hard with wolf mouth. 

A few hours later, Lucian disappears into the spare room once more, and emerges, a few minutes later, looking reasonably human. Nothing that couldn’t have, if need be, been explained away as contacts and really good fake fangs. Peter sends a quick prayer to anyone who might be listening that Lucian will not bring it up, but he can see from his face as he sits down across from him that he isn’t so lucky.

“Look, Peter,” Lucian begins.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Really sorry. Will not do that- any of those things again, I promise,” he interrupts, deeply uncomfortable.

“I understand you did not mean offence, but please don’t compare me to a dog again.”

“Won’t! I promise!” Peter assures him, too quick and too loud.

“And you just startled me awake, I was not expecting you to-”

“Yeah, sorry. Will not do that again either. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lucian promises.

Peter looks up at him again, and now his eyes have softened into that light brownish green sort of colour, and he can’t see any fangs. Which does make him look less threatening, even if the fangs are quite fetching sometimes, too. That’s a thing Peter has had to come to terms with his being into, despite everything. He blames his vampire induced trauma for this ironic kink.

“Now, would you like some feedback on your show?” Lucian asks, mercifully changing the subject.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, thank you, yes. Feedback. Give it to me.”

Lucian looks amused, which is apparently how all supernatural beings feel about Peter. Which is okay, he can deal with that. It’s better than murderous, ravenous rage.

“Firstly, everyone in your audience is awful,” Lucian says, very seriously, and Peter can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, that’s inevitable, I’m afraid. Nothing I can do about them. Tragic, really.”

“That is unfortunate. And your, ah, digital yelling at them you have been doing for three hours now, that is not helping?”

“Sadly not, no,” Peter confirms, “all we’ve done is get very upset about a twenty year old Dracula film.”

“For three hours?” Lucian asks, somewhat incredulous.

“Look! The internet’s evolved since your time, all right? There’s a lot of people with a lot of opinions.”

“And it is your job to correct that?”

Peter opens his mouth to argue, hesitates, and closes it again. Lucian looks like he is having too much fun.

“Any actual opinions on the show?” Peter asks instead.

“Oh, many.”

“Good,” Peter says, with some worry.

Lucian shifts, makes himself more comfortable, and maybe it’s Peter projecting what he would do, but it seems like he’s taking great joy in telling Peter everything that’s wrong with his life’s work.

“Firstly, there is very little narrative structure.”

“Not supposed to be,” Peter defends, “more of a setting, an atmosphere. Not a bloody play, is it?”

“No?”

“No! It’s a mixture of magic and vampire hunting and just- It doesn’t need a better narrative structure, all right?”

“Okay,” Lucian tells him, and Peter gets the distinct feeling that he is humouring him, “Your vampires, then.”

“What about them?”

“They all suspiciously seem to be very scantily clad attractive women.”

“Yes?”

Lucian raises an eyebrow.

“What? That’s what sells tickets, all right? Can’t put Bela Lugosi on posters any more, no one wants to see that. Or, well, not in this context, at any rate. Besides, everyone knows vampires are slutty.”

Lucian laughs.

“Oh? Have you informed Aro of this?”

“Oh, please! He may not share the sense of fashion, but in spirit? That is absolutely true.”

“Right. Well, it’s not terribly representative. There is a fairly even gender distribution, I believe, similar to that of the human population. And whatever Aro tells you, they don’t all become magically attractive.”

“Noted. Not firing any of the cast, though.”

“And despite vampires being pale, not all of them are white or from whatever Eastern European accent they are trying to match. Nor all between the ages of 18 and 35.”

“Ah- All right, yeah, that’s a fair criticism. In my defence, I’m not super in charge of casting, but I could’ve made my input more clear.”

“And I’m not actually familiar with any species of vampire that actually reside in crypts or mausolea. If, as your show posits, they were weak to the effects of symbols of Christianity or religions in general, surely a graveyard, littered with crosses, would be a terrible choice?”

Peter frowns.

“You know, that’s a pretty good point. Never thought of that.”

“And I am fairly certain they do not sleep in coffins. Other than when they go underground for centuries at a time, they have- well, the ones who… the ones I am most familiar with, they have elaborate sarcophagi for that purpose. And then that is largely for security reasons, I believe.”

Peter pouts.

“But that’s the whole aesthetic! Mist and graveyards and bats and coffins. How else am I meant to convey that vibe?”

Lucian shrugs.

“They do like castles, I can confirm that. And excess and luxury. Much, in a way, like you.”

“Uncalled for,” Peter mutters.

“They also, and this might cheer you up, like bats. We- in the castle I…” he hesitates, searching for the right word, though Peter knows what he means without his needing to say, “I lived for the first few centuries of my life, we would… not keep bats, exactly, but encourage them to stay. There was an abandoned tower specifically for that purpose. For scaring away humans, who did at that time believe the vampires could transform themselves into bats, and so they could be disturbed and used to scare humans when they attacked.”

Peter stares at him for a moment.

“I have so many follow up questions to that, but I am, indeed, delighted to learn that the bat thing is correct. And, uh. Turning into mist, or bats, or wolves, what about that? And flying?”

“I am not entirely sure,” Lucian admits, “I am not familiar with vampires that are capable of any of that, but seeing as I can turn into a wolf it’s hardly improbable. I am, again, mainly familiar with Aro’s species, and the… twin to my own. But there are many out there, some I have only heard of from Aro. It is entirely possible, so I cannot fault you for including it. I have to say, though, I have seen people turned by vampires, and it is rarely as erotic as you portray it.”

“No? That’s kind of a thread in a lot of vampire fiction, the seduction of death and all that. Not my personal experience, admittedly, more traumatic and violent and constantly haunting my nightmares, but there were like ten of them, so maybe that is part of the problem.”

Lucian looks at him softly, but Peter shakes his head. More flippant comment than demand for sympathy, which Lucian, judging by his next comment, seems to understand.

“Aro has bitten me and that has been, as you say, hot,” Lucian says, presumably unaware that he has now given Peter a new fantasy, “but I am immune to his venom, so I cannot say whether it is usually unpleasant. He also can’t really drink my blood. Or he can, physically, but it makes him kind of nauseated, so he doesn’t like to. At any rate, I imagine it to be significantly more unpleasant when someone is draining most of your blood.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “yeah, probably. I mean, I’m all for portraying the very real horror of vampires, some select individuals excluded, but it’s not as appealing to audiences, for some reason. It’s the rise of paranormal romance as a genre, I think. People want all the monsters to just be sexy humans with funny coloured eyes. Which yes, all right, that does describe Aro at least visually, and the sparkling doesn’t help, but… Don’t know. It’s what sells tickets these days.”

“A pity,” Lucian comments, “dooming you to have to look at very attractive half naked ladies all day.”

“It is a burden,” Peter agrees with a grin.

“Wouldn’t mind some very attractive half naked guys too, though. Make it a bit more fair. Attractive people of any and all genders.”

“It would be more representative,” Lucian agrees, “at least slightly.”

“And if I include, uh, lycanthropes, what’s the correct amount of attractiveness?”

“We are all, as you can see, exceptionally attractive,” Lucian says, completely straight faced, and look, with this evidence in front of him, who is Peter to disagree?

“Good- uh, good to know,” he says, sounding significantly less cool and unaffected than he had intended.

He feels his face go warm, and suddenly becomes terribly occupied by his phone. He sees the clock is nearing five in the morning, and yawns, despite himself.

“Look, uh, want to continue this later? If you’ve got more feedback, I mean?”

“I do.”

“Good, cause I… uh. Brain getting tired a bit. If you need to be wolfy again or just can’t be bothered to go, feel free to stay over. Still a few hours of moonlight left, yeah? Then, possibly, we can continue in the morning?”

Lucian looks at him for a moment, searching for something Peter can’t quite place.

“Yes, that would be good. Thank you.”


	31. Chapter 31

Lucian is torn from visions of being forced, once more, to watch Sonja burn. He blinks. The room is dark. There is the creaking sound of the front door closing, the lock clicking shut, and for a few moments he is readying himself for a fight, until he recognises the scent of his intruder, and relaxes back into the pillows. The dark shape approaches him, silhouette distorted by the fluttering of a cloak.

“This place is terrible,” Aro informs him in lieu of a greeting.

Lucian sighs fondly.

“The security is unfortunate. The lock is far too easy to pick. You ought to install more of them, perhaps some traps.”

“But how will you break in then?” Lucian shoots back.

Aro sits down on the bed, strokes Lucian’s cheek with a cold hand. Lucian leans into it. Now that there is no danger, the shock that woke him is wearing off, and sleepiness is creeping back in. His eyes are threatening to slip closed again, and he takes Aro’s hand in his own, tugging weakly at it.

“Get undressed and join me?”

Aro laughs softly, but obliges. Lucian turns to face the wall, eyes closed, listening to the soft rustling. He feels the bed dip, cool air as the covers are lifted, and then then cold shock of Aro’s icy skin pressed against his back. Aro kisses the back of his neck, slips an arm around Lucian’s middle.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.”

Lucian feels the familiar prodding at his mind, and smiles.

“Need to get inside my brain already?”

“Oh, you know I do love being inside you.”

Lucian laughs.

“Yes. Perhaps you can be even more, but later. Need to sleep some more.”

Aro huffs, annoyed.

“It’s only an hour until sunrise,” he complains.

“Mhmm,” Lucian agrees, curling his hand around Aro’s.

“Fine,” Aro sighs, relaxing a little.

“How did you find this place?” Lucian asks.

“Peter told me.”

Lucian hesitates.  
“You went there first?”

“That’s the building the both of you were in when I left, Lucian.”

“Right. Of course.”

He tries to keep himself from letting the slight doubts creep in, tries to focus on being sleepy instead. It doesn’t work, he thinks, because Aro squeezes his hand and presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. But still, focusing on Aro there, with him, in him, around him, it all helps him relax, and it is not long before he manages to relax into a deep sleep. 

Throughout his dreams, some confusing situation where the castle his pack had stayed in for a few decades in the sixteen hundreds being attacked by giant bats, Aro is there. Not as part of what is going on, but just as a reassuring presence, a cool hand on Lucian’s shoulder, watching over him.

When he wakes again, the sun is streaming in through the window, and his head is resting on Aro’s chest, a hand stroking his hair, and beautiful red eyes looking down at him. 

“Love you,” he murmurs.

“And I you.”

Lucian stretches up enough to kiss Aro, then buries his face in his soft, dark hair. He smells good. Smells safe. The odd empty dead smell of vampires, the weird undertones of venom and the faint traces of human blood, but good because it is him. Because it means Aro is there, and Lucian is safe, and loved. 

“How was home?”

“Not… ideal. There are those, both here in the states and in Europe who keep trying to reveal themselves to the humans and it is an absolute nightmare.”

“As opposed to you revealing yourself to Peter?”

“That’s different,” Aro insists.

“Because you two are lovers?”

“Partly. And because he is just one person, who already knew of the existence of vampires, and hadn’t really told other people.”

“I suppose that is fair,” Lucian agreed, tracing meaningless patterns into Aro’s skin with a nail that is closer to a claw than it should be.

Aro makes him let his guard down far too much. Lucian likes that about him. The ability to be himself, be all parts of himself, completely open and vulnerable, and know that he is safe, and loved, for all of it. 

“I did attempt to find out more about what happened in Budapest,” Aro says, “ten years ago. And it is not much that I was able to find out, but I did manage to confirm that you succeeded.”

“Succeeded?”

“There was a hybrid.”

“The descendant of Corvinus I found?”

Lucian pushes himself up on his elbow, looking down at Aro, trying to read any additional information in his face.

“I believe so, yes.”

Lucian had suspected as much, but it is still good to know. A wave of relief and some emotion he can’t quite yet identify. Emptiness? Loss of purpose? Fulfilment? He flops back down onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Are you all right?” Aro asks, though his hand is on Lucian’s arm, and he can clearly tell.

“I am not sure,” Lucian replies, slightly dazed, “do you know what happened to him? To them?”

“Not much, no,” Aro admits, “they seem to have gone underground shortly after, though there was a trail of murders and fights in the following days.”

“Do they live?”

“I don’t know.”

Aro kisses Lucian’s forehead, stroking his face, patient and gentle. He rests a hand over Lucian’s heart, and his expression is soft, blood red eyes filled with love. It’s not often Lucian sees him like this. It is not that he is distant, precisely, but rarely quite so open, so direct in his caring.

“Do any of my pack still live?”

“I believe so, though I was not able to make contact with them. Somehow they do not appear to trust the Volturi.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Lucian replies, deadpan, because the idea that they are not out there, somewhere, is so distressing to him that he cannot bring himself to seriously consider it.

“Rude,” Aro tells him, his tone gently joking too, “ungrateful. Bad wolf.”

He kisses Lucian, soft and slow and deep. Lucian pulls him down on top of him, a cool solid weight, Aro nudging Lucian’s legs apart with his own. He runs almost claws down Aro’s back, holding him close, grinding up against him. Pushing his worries away and focusing, very deliberately, on Aro. The feel of his lips, the sharp points of his fangs against his tongue, the hands running down his sides, petting through his hair, slipping under the waistband of his underwear to push it down. 

“Oh, my sweet wolf, you are beautiful like this,” Aro breathes, and Lucian realises his fangs have slipped out, his eyes have gone pale and inhuman.

Lucian chases him, brings him into another kiss, claws digging into his skin. Pressing himself as close to him as he can, wanting to lose himself in Aro. It is so very easy to let himself do so, and very little reason not to. 

When Aro, after slicking himself up, opening Lucian up a little, pushes into him, it is a relief and further tension all at once, a cool pressure against overheated flesh. It feels right, feels good. Aro waits a few moments before moving, letting Lucian get used to the stretch, though neither of them is capable of getting hurt much. He doesn’t move until Lucian starts to push back against him, pulling back and then thrusting back in, starting to build the tension up again.

It is fast, almost desperate, and needy, the first time. Both of them chasing their release, craving it and each other. The second time they let themselves linger, savouring the experience, and each other. It’s all slow movements, focusing on bringing each other pleasure, on each others’ bodies. Taking their time. 

It’s easy to appreciate Aro’s beauty. The pale and utterly inhuman skin, looking like some kind of Grecian statue, yet soft and human to the touch. The fact that he is a little softer than Lucian, a little less affected by life. The red eyes, bright and alive and curious.

“Hmm. I like it when you appreciate me,” Aro murmurs, kissing Lucian’s shoulder.

“I always appreciate you,” Lucian argues, then pushes himself up.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Want company?” Aro asks.

Lucian frowns.

“I do not think there is actually room for that…”

“This is a terrible place,” Aro tells him again.

“It is what I needed.”

“There is not a hint of marble or gold,” Aro, reasonably, points out, “all this grey is sad.”

“The point,” Lucian tells him, extracting himself from Aro’s cool embrace and meeting only some resistance, “is to go unnoticed. Not to get somewhere that attracts attention.”

Aro looks at him, pointedly. Lucian presses a kiss to his cheek.

“There is blood in the freezer, if you want.”

“Human?”

“No.”

“You’re an awful host, you know that?” Aro informs him.

“It is hard to be prepared when you show up, unannounced in the middle of the night.”

“Excuses.”

Still, when Lucian emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, hair hanging wet and tangled around his shoulders, Aro is sipping blood from a cheap wine glass. His faces dares Lucian to comment, so he doesn’t, making himself some food instead. The kitchen is tiny, and not very well equipped, and Lucian does see Aro’s point. The bedroom is small and cramped and cave-like, and the combined kitchen and living room is not much bigger, and Lucian can understand how, to Aro’s eyes, it seems terrible, but to someone who spent the first two hundred years of their life sleeping on some straw in a stone alcove, it feels right. 

“You know,” Aro says, “I saw something interesting in your mind.”

“Of course you did, I’m very interesting,” Lucian replies, pouring himself a cup of only slightly disappointing coffee.

“I think you know what I mean.”

Lucian sighs, leaning on the table, not looking directly at Aro.

“I do,” he admits.

“I saw it in Peter, too.”

“Has he not asked you not to read his mind?”

Aro shrugs.

“Perhaps. But he feels things very loudly, and it is hard to block everything out, when he tries so desperately not to think about it while he touches me.”

“It’s sort of what you wanted, is it not?” Lucian asks.

“For Peter to fall for you? Of course. Although I do not think it is reciprocated?”

“I like him. He is a surprisingly good person. And nice. And, I suppose, good looking. But not like you want, I think.”

“It would make this easier,” Aro points out, “for both of you.”

“It might,” Lucian agrees, “but feelings are rarely based on convenience.”

“Indeed. Especially not yours.”

Lucian glares at him, but with very little either effect or feeling. 

“Yes,” he admits, “I suppose that is fair.”

Aro puts down his blood streaked glass and rises, coming to stand behind Lucian, resting his hand on his back, brushing his wet, tangled hair to the side. Presses a kiss to the side of Lucian’s neck, where there is a faint scar in the shape of Aro’s own bite. 

“I will not pressure you,” he promises, “but were an attraction to happen organically…”

“You’re terrible,” Lucian informs him.

“Only a little.”

“Only a little,” Lucian agrees, because it is very hard to hold any real resentment against Aro, not when he is so close.

Not when he so very obviously cares.


	32. Chapter 32

Aro returns to his bed the following night. He had only been there briefly, after he returned, to find out where Lucian was. Which is. Which is okay. It really is, Peter keeps trying to tell himself. He has plenty of cause to be extra worried about Lucian, and no doubt the things he has to say about what he was doing in Italy will make more sense to Lucian than to Peter. So it’s totally fine. Great. Amazing.

Needless to say, he has built up a healthy amount of resentment by the time Aro returns. There’s no show tonight, so he’s had plenty of time to get drunk, and getting into stupid arguments on twitter hasn’t been helping. Usually he just blocks the transphobic ones, but today he’s in the mood to stoke his righteous anger, and so he explains in as rude a way as possible how much the fuckers deserve to burn. Which, of course, just gets more people yelling at him, either more bigoted bullshit, or other queer people telling him off for being a bad example, or else a third group insisting that people should be civil about this shit. And okay. Maybe some of his tweets had been a bit much, but honestly, they had it coming. 

Peter groans, feeling the beginnings of a headache creeping into his temples, and shuts his phone. He manages to heave himself off the sofa, going over to the bar and getting a beer out from the mini fridge. Beer is practically water, right? That’s hydrating? Ought to help his head. He’s just opened the can and taken a first sip when he hears the doors to the lift open. It’s past two in the morning, and so he is reasonably sure it’s Aro. 

“What’s up, you bloodsucking bastard?” he asks, just as Aro comes out into the living room.

Aro raises an eyebrow. He looks terrible and perfect and his eyes are so very red.

“Is anything the matter, Peter?”

Peter isn’t sure whether he sounds a little bit tired or if it’s just himself projecting, expecting and wanting Aro to get angry back. He glares at him, just for good measure.

“Do you give a shit about me?” he demands, gesturing with the can of beer, some splashing across Aro’s undoubtedly extremely expensive and dry clean only shirt.

“Peter…”

Peter hates his name being used like that. Aro doesn’t even need to say anything, his name says it all. A synonym for everything wrong with him. A useful summary.

“Do you care about me at all? Because it just feels a lot like I’m your third priority. You just- just come here to know where to find Lucian, because he’s the one that’s actually important, right? He’s the one you’ve been with for ages, and I get that- You’ve, whatever, history, but it feels a lot like you’re just in this for the sex or something, and that’s kind of shitty of you, after- after everything you’ve said.”

He watches Aro’s face go from annoyance to something softer, and a little more sad. He takes a step towards Peter, who instantly, without thinking, retreats. Aro doesn’t get to do his mind reading trick, or his distracting Peter with very excellent sex trick. 

“Don’t,” he says, but it comes out weaker and more pleading than he intends it to.

“Peter, I hope you know I have never meant for you to feel that way,” Aro says, reaching out a hand towards Peter, then catching himself, letting it drop to his side.

“Well. ‘S happened anyway, hasn’t it.”

He downs the remaining half of the beer can, and tosses it in the general direction of the bin, missing by several feet. Aro looks apologetic and frustrated in an almost helpless way. It’s a look Peter is painfully familiar with. He seems to inspire it a lot.

“If it is any consolation at all, Lucian feels a little the same in regards to you. He was a little hurt I came to see you first.”

And Peter doesn’t have a snappy comeback to that. In fact, he feels a little bad about it. No, this is all Aro’s fault. Peter and Lucian need to unionise, to demand Aro be better to both of them. Maybe get his undead wife in on it, too. After all, he’s leaving her to fuck off to America and have sex with him and Lucian, and Peter doesn’t know how much she appreciates that. 

“It’s not. Just means you’re kind of a shit boyfriend to both of us.”

Aro looks away. He walks over to the large windows, hands clasped at his back, infinitely pale against the black fabric. Peter hesitates, then follows him, draping himself over one of the armchairs, one leg resting on the fake firepit. He picks at the frayed pre-distressed holes in his jeans, dislodging further threads, as he waits for Aro to speak. Some of the anger has dissipated, now, satisfied with having had his outburst. There is simmering resentment still, but now mixed in is guilt, and sadness, and a feeling that he’s somehow gone too far. He doesn’t like it.

The lights from the city below give a pale, yellow cast to Aro’s face as he turns, halfway, to look at Peter. At this angle, his eyes seem to glow, but somehow Peter finds that reassuring, rather than frightening. God he’s fucked up.

“I know,” Aro says, at last.

He sits down in the chair next to Peter, and sighs, heavily. No, Peter was right earlier, he does look tired. Maybe the shit happening in Italy is worse than Peter has realised, or else this is just what dealing with him does to the people in his life.

“Yeah?” Peter encourages, when Aro remains silent.

“I know I am not… easy to be with,” Aro admits, “and that not everyone is comfortable with not being the only one. I thought- I believed Lucian to be fine with it, but I think perhaps he has never been quite so confronted with the fact of it. Not having to spend as much time with the other person. And even though the two of you seem to get along, I understand it is challenging.”

Peter feels a stab of guilt somewhere in his guts, dulled a little by the alcohol in his system. He hates that Aro has this affect on him, that it is so easy for him to entirely diffuse Peter’s righteous anger with these moments of being just sort of reasonable and sympathetic. It’s irresistible, though, the slight surge of almost power, of being able to affect someone so ancient and powerful and inhuman like this. He reaches out, bending uncomfortably, to put a hand on Aro’s arm. Red eyes flick down to their point of contact, then to Peter’s face, searching.

“’M sorry I lashed out,” Peter mutters, not looking Aro in the eyes.

“Just frustrating, is all, but it’s not like you’ve not made it clear by now what the situation is. And I’m sorry Lucian feels like this, too. He shouldn’t have to. I mean, been centuries for the two of you, yeah? Half a millennium? I’m just. What’s it been, a few months?”

“Something like that,” Aro agrees, “but you are not less important. Merely newer.”

“Mm,” Peter agrees, relaxing back into his chair, satisfied and miserable, but comforted in that Aro seems like he’s having a bad time too.

The sit in silence for a while, Peter occasionally glancing at Aro, who is staring out of the window again, contemplating whatever very old vampires contemplate. Ideally hopefully about how to be nicer to Peter and Aro.

“Missed you,” Peter mutters. 

He was only gone about a week and a half, this time, but it’s still true. There’s something a bit lonely about waking up alone when you’ve gotten used to the possibility of not doing so. He wants to reach out to Aro again, to touch him. To feel that cool, strong embrace, but he doesn’t.

“And I you,” Aro replies softly.

“Would you like me to stay?” he adds, looking at Peter with something like hope.

Peter hesitates, but only for a moment.

“Yes, yeah. Course I do. My whole thing was being upset at you not being present enough. Please stay.”

Aro spends an hour or so telling Peter of what he has been doing in Italy, explaining some of what the Volturi is like, but mostly focusing on the vampires trying so very hard to reveal themselves to the humans.

“Why do they want so badly to do so?” Peter asks, “surely it won’t be great for them either?”

“They do not wish to remain hidden in the shadows, to be unable to walk in the sun without giving themselves away. They do not understand why humans, who are so inferior-”

“Rude.”

“In their minds,” Aro reassures him, despite Peter being fairly certain Aro agrees with them, “why you should force them to live in hiding.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Peter says.

Aro joins Peter in bed, after. It feels right, curling up against him, resting his head on that cool chest, which rises and falls uselessly. He doesn’t feel any prodding at his mind, either, which is nice. He suspects Aro of snooping around in there while he sleeps, but if it’s mainly working memory he can read, then it ought to just be a confusing mess of all Peter’s trauma going through a blender he’s getting. At least that’s what his dreams usually feel like. 

There’s something about laying there in Aro’s arms that feels so perversely safe. He ought to be used to it, he supposes, by now, but sometimes it hits him anew, how weird this is. How comfortable he has gotten in the company of a monster. But he is a pretty nice monster, at least to Peter, who strokes his hair, and whispers what Peter hopes are sweet nothings, partly in Italian and partly in his strange pre-ancient Greek. 

He knows he needs to make up his mind, to figure out whether he can actually be okay with this. Because if he can’t, well, then he’s just upsetting Aro and Lucian both, needlessly, not to mention himself. He can’t just keep being angry at himself and Aro and then flip flop back to being stupidly infatuated and forgiving. That’s not good for any of them. But it’s hard to avoid. Of course, he has already committed, or said that he has, and he doesn’t regret it yet, but he struggles to deal with all of it, still.

Aro kisses the top of Peter’s head, and he presses himself even closer in return. Aro takes Peter’s hand in his own, twining their fingers together over where his heart was. Or is, but dead. Peter is still very unclear on exactly what this weird venom vampire biology situation is. He’s prioritised getting to know the external biology so far.

Peter has the brief impulse to tell Aro how important he is to him. Instead, he kisses the nearest available part of Aro’s skin, delighting in the strangeness of it. The odd non-skin texture, the way in which he warms up so slowly and partially, the lack of a heartbeat. All things that ought to have him running away, but are now just things he associates with Aro. That feel right, and comfortable. He wants, he realises, to stay like this forever. It’s a jarring realisation, and he hopes both that Aro has heard, and that he hasn’t, all at once. He thinks perhaps he understands what Lucian was talking about. That there is something easy about opening up your mind, so you don’t have to actually put anything into words, just let him see it in your mind, understand your emotions first hand. Maybe when he works out how he feels, he will show Aro. But probably that’s a little ways off yet.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More stupid vampire questions, several techniques for penetrating vampires with foreign objects and uncomfortable conversations

Peter thrusts the silicon phallus into Aro again, his hand wrapped around the vampire’s cock, trying to find his own orgasm as much as Aro’s. By the look on that pale face, he’s doing pretty well. There is panting, deep breaths, the illusion of a slight flush, which worryingly means he likely fed very recently, but no, no Peter isn’t thinking about that. Aro looks up at him, and Peter wonders if he is being mentally loud again, enough that Aro can’t help but hearing. It’s difficult to gauge.

“Are my thoughts being loud again?” he thinks as loudly and deliberately as he can, and Aro laughs, which turns into a soft moan as Peter does that particular thing with his fingers just under the head of Aro’s cock.

“A little,” he replies, voice satisfyingly breathy.

“Sorry,” Peter tells him, and thrusts in again, to punctuate his point with penetration.

“Do not worry- oh. Please do that again instead, if you feel so inclined, but do not worry, my dear. I am used to being inside the head of my lovers, everyone’s thoughts stray. And yes, I do try to feed before I come to see you. You are human, after all, and I would not want to lose control, to be a danger to you.”

“I do,” Peter replies, breathlessly, having found the place where the back of the strap-on rubs against his clit in just the right way, “appreciate you not eating me- not in, uh, not in that way, anyway.”

Aro moves, flipping the two of them, so fast Peter hardly realises it is happening, until he is on his back, and Aro is sinking back down onto the strap-on, his hands splayed on Peter’s chest. He is doing this thing again where he is in Peter’s mind, responding to Peter’s reactions, which, invasion of privacy aside, makes for really fucking excellent sex.

Aro is beautiful above him, his hair finally a little messed up, a look of concentration on his face. Peter rests his hands on Aro’s hips, letting Aro take over, only partially because he literally doesn’t think he can move unless Aro lets him.

Later, they drive to a vampire nest outside the city. Peter is in the driver’s seat, and Aro and Lucian in the back, talking quietly in some language Peter neither understands nor recognises. Aro claims these are very important vampires to get rid off, but Peter suspects it is all a ploy to to get all three of them together in a cramped space for the two hour long drive. Twice. Currently, though, they’re ignoring him. He keeps glancing back at them in the mirror, seeing them lean close, talking softly. It seems so intimate, and he feels terribly on the outside of it, separated physically, emotionally and linguistically. 

It’s been a little while since he came to the slightly inconvenient realisation that he is kind of into Lucian. Granted, it was probably inevitable. The man is nice, handsome, has saved Peter’s life, and agrees with him when he complains about Aro. And sure, yes, okay, he is an immortal werewolf, and that is pretty weird, Peter fully admits that, but mostly he’s just a human looking man with a nice face and only occasionally fangs and weird eyes. And Peter is already dating Aro, who is so much stranger and more inhuman still. Lucian presumably has things like body heat and a heart beat. Not that those are crucial, apparently. He doesn’t think Lucian likes him back, though. Not in the same way. And why should he? What has Peter to offer? What is he, compared to Aro? Impressive and ancient and immortal, beautiful and terrifying. And Peter is just… a mess. Not even that hot a mess, these days.

He stops at a petrol station and gets himself an oversized iced coffee with too much sugar and not very good coffee. He doesn’t offer the others to get them anything, and they don’t ask. As they stay parked for a moment, Aro decides it’s a good time to Talk. Great. Excellent. Good. Maybe Peter can start driving, wreck the car. Probably wouldn’t stop Aro, though.

Peter groans pre-emptively, tugging his hood over his head and getting his sunglasses out of the glove compartment. In the mirror he sees Lucian look almost equally uncomfortable. Great. Thanks, Aro.

“Don’t,” Peter pleads.

“Don’t what?” Aro asks, “don’t take advantage of your developing feelings?”

“Yes! Don’t do that! Don’t make us have this conversation. I know you’re a mind reader, but you don’t have to weaponise it against me. Or us.”

Lucian is pointedly looking out of the window.

“All I am trying to get across,” Aro says, with a surprisingly genuine looking smile, “is that I care a great deal for the both of you, and that fact that you get along makes me happy. And, if you were to… become even more enthusiastic about each other, in the way Peter already is-”

“I’m going to drive off a cliff,” Peter interjects.

“Then that would make the issues of jealousy you are both experience a problem of the past,” Aro continues, not acknowledging Peter’s complaint.

“And you are simply bringing this up as a suggestion?” Lucian asks in a weary voice.

“Well. You do seem to require a little push, my dear.”

Peter starts the car up again, for something to do, grateful he is in the front, is driving, and not sitting next to a very self satisfied looking Aro. And look, yes, Peter doesn’t exactly disagree. He definitely wouldn’t mind this turning into a sort of happy triangle situation, especially with Aro being gone so often. And while he doesn’t know Lucian as well as he knows Aro, he does seem like he is easier to get along with, tendencies to go on about centuries old trauma notwithstanding. Aro trying to force it, though, is just wildly uncomfortable. It feels a little too much like Aro is all too used to getting his way, and is expecting this to happen so that he will not have to listen to the two of them complain about the situation. Which honestly, Peter cannot say he wouldn’t be inclined to do the same were he in that position, but he’s not, and so he is confident in his righteous frustration.

The vampire nest, when they get there after a terribly awkward and uncomfortable hour and a half drive, during which Peter blasted music too loud for him to hear anything else. It’s late-ish, now, the sun having set about an hour ago, and so it’s safe for Aro to get out. Well, safe from a not getting noticed perspective, anyway.

The moon is a thin sliver above them, its light weak and nearly drowned out by warm yellow street lamps. They are on the outskirts of a small town, and Peter has no idea where Aro finds these vampires. Maybe there’s a forum. Hi, cr34tur30fthen1ght_1874 here, can any of you guys recommend a place to lay low and find some good humans to eat near Vegas? Or something like it. Either way, it makes things easier for Peter.

He gets his bag of weapons out of the boot, although what he’s bringing to the table compared to the powerful supernatural creatures he is with is questionable. Maybe he’s bait. Reluctantly he takes off his sunglasses, because though he would very much like to continue avoiding eye contact with the others, it’s getting too dark for him to actually see much. He debates the various weapons he has packed, settling on a couple of stakes and the small crossbow. 

The find the vampires in a large house, which stands a fair distance from the nearest neighbours. There are curtains blocking sunlight from entering the windows, and no light coming from inside, but Aro and Lucian both seem certain they are still there, not having gone out to hunt. They sneak in, Peter following after, trusting the others and their senses to locate their prey. Hmm. Prey. That’s not a good word. But it’s sort of right, isn’t it? They are who they’re hunting. And none but Peter could even potentially be hurt by them. 

It’s entirely dark inside, and Peter can barely manage to follow Lucian, while Aro quickly searches the rest of the house, just in case. Still, there appears to be a large cellar, in which the vampires are likely based. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, so quietly he barely hears his own voice, but he trusts Lucian can hear with his magic wolf ears, “about earlier, about- well. You know.”

Lucian doesn’t respond, freezing instead and holding a hand out to stop Peter. He indicates the stairs.

“Down there,” he whispers.

Convenient.

He follows Lucian down a staircase, until he too can hear voices, speaking softly. He can’t make out what they are saying, not yet, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. Probably discussing what blood types are the tastiest or whatever. Bad vampire shit. 

They are just about to push open the final door when another, which neither of them have noticed, opens, and a vampire tackles Lucian. Peter is just about to try to shoot it, when two others come from the door Lucian had just been about to open, And Peter shoots at them, but the bolt passes harmlessly between them. He hears a loud snarl from below, followed by the scent of blood, strong and all encompassing and not quite right. Peter backs off, but one of the vampires pounces on him, knocking the crossbow from his hand and Peter to the floor. He lands hard, but manages not to hit his head too bad. It’s suspicious, he thinks, how often this sneaking up on vampires business goes poorly. Still, with Aro and Lucian here he is not too worried about dying. Though where is Aro?

The vampire on top of Lucian explodes in a cloud of dust, and later Peter will wonder how on Earth Lucian managed that with just teeth and claws. Chilling. But in the moment, he is more distracted by the vampire whose fangs are at this point millimetres from his throat, a cold tongue licking at the skin there, a revolting feeling. Peter’s hand is on one of the stakes, but the vampire is too close to wedge it in between them. But maybe he doesn’t have to, maybe it’s enough to- He jams the stake into the vampire’s throat, and it screeches, thick, dark blood gushing from the wound as Peter pulls the stake out. It rears back, which is excellent, giving Peter the room to drive the stake into its heart.

“Fuck,” he mutters, spitting out vampiric ash, and coughing. 

Lucian, in the meantime, has taken out the remaining vampire. Taken its throat out with his mouth, by the looks of it. Blood runs down his face and throat and down into his clothes, and on his hands, too. He’s breathing heavily, and Peter can see the glimpse of bloodstained fangs, light from the other room making his pale blue empty eyes almost glow. Peter is upset to realise he does, in fact, find this incredibly hot. No one can ever know. Lucian extends a hand to help Peter up, and he takes it, his heart doing something funny that he chooses to put down to adrenaline. 

“You okay?” Lucian asks.

“Yea- Yeah. Yeah. You?”

“Yes. Come. There are more upstairs, Aro is fighting- no, Aro has killed them all.”

Peter, who hasn’t heard anything, is slightly envious of Lucian’s super senses. He brushes ash from his clothes, kicking at the vampire shaped piles of dust dissolving into the gooey piles of gross blood.

“Why doesn’t their blood turn to dust?” he asks.

Lucian shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, is it because it’s no longer physically connected to them? Speaking of, why do their clothes turn to ash too? Surely they won’t burn just because the vampire does? I mean, when it’s not, you know, death by fire, when it’s just from getting staked?” Peter continues, as he leads the way up the stairs.

“I don’t know, Peter,” Lucian replies, and he sounds tired.

Peter shuts up, then, feeling bad. Aro is waiting for them when they reach the ground floor, looking perfect, not a spot of blood on him, not a hair out of place, because why would something simple like killing a few weaker vampires affect him at all. No, Aro is fine. He grimaces a little when he sees the two of them, but kisses both their cheeks. Peter’s first, which he notes with some stupid, competitive, jealous glee, followed immediately by guilt. 

The drive back is slightly less tense, so apparently murder is good for them. Well, for the general vibes in the car, if nothing else. Lucian has managed to wash off a lot of the blood, but his beard is still saturated with it. The blood on Peter’s t-shirt and hoodie has gone sticky, clinging to his skin, and the stench of it is bad even to him. Killing vampires should be making him feel good, feel like for once in his life he has done something good, but instead he just feels nebulously bad.

He drops Lucian off at his place, and Aro is staying with him tonight, apparently. At the very least, he does lean in to kiss Peter goodbye, promising that they will have a repeat of this mornings activities in not too long. Which yes, is nice, but doesn’t make Peter feel much better, especially when he’s going home alone.

It’s too early to fall asleep when he gets home, and so he lounges on the sofa, watching something stupid on his giant flat screen, drinking. He can’t get the image of a blood drenched Lucian out of his head. It’s a fucked up thing to find hot, but once again he figures he can probably blame his trauma. And, when he next sees Aro, chances are they are going to have to talk about this. And he’s going to have to talk to Lucian about it too, eventually. Fuck.

It haunts his dreams, that night, the image of Lucian, covered in blood, standing over him. Sometimes he pulls Peter up and into a kiss, which, blessedly, in the dream, does not taste of gross vampire blood. Other times he pounces on him in much the same way the vampire had, though the results are very different. When he wakes up, he is wet and uncomfortable, and, worse, has several unread texts from the lycan in question.


	34. Advanced Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self care is not reading the messages from your boyfriend’s other boyfriend about whom you have both feelings and sex dreams.

Peter avoids reading Lucian’s texts for several hours after he gets up. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to face the inevitable awkwardness. He studiously ignores the notifications throughout his breakfast, even making himself proper food to further put off opening them. Then, for the first time in two and a half months, he does some yoga. Maybe, he thinks, balancing awkwardly on one leg, this is the way to get his life together. Find something he wants to avoid badly enough that even things that are good for his seem like a better option. After a work out significantly shorter than the programme a personal trainer gave him, he takes a bath. Self care is not reading the messages from your boyfriend’s other boyfriend about whom you have both feelings and sex dreams. 

_Peter, I would like to talk to you in person, perhaps ideally without Aro,_ reads the first text.

Peter takes a break to make himself another coffee before having to read the next one. He takes his time, and sits on the counter, looking out into the too bright early afternoon sun, enjoying the hot caffeine. Probably he is coming to say something like hey, Peter, Aro has told me that you’re into me but unfortunately I could never like you back because I’m only into rich vampire nobility, or something like that. Or maybe he’s angry about Peter liking him, about that making Aro be like this, giving him ideas. Almost worst of all is the idea that he might think Peter has asked Aro to do this. But no, no surely not. He wouldn’t, would he? Not with how uncomfortable Peter was earlier?

 _Please respond, Aro is being insufferable,_ the second text says, and Peter laughs.

 _yeh, come over, leave the bloodsucker,_ Peter responds, and promptly sets his phone to air plane mode, because that way he won’t have to deal with the mortifying ordeal of having to see a response. 

“Peter?”

Peter startles, the coffee cup resting on his chest dislodging, rolling onto the sofa cushions. Luckily it’s empty. He’s laying with one leg draped over the back of the sofa, at least that looks like it’s the case, but the limb in question has gone numb, so he can’t quite tell. He must have been dozing, because Lucian is hovering at the edge of the room, and Peter has no memory of him arriving.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “hi. I see appearing creepily out of nowhere is a lycan thing as well as a vampire one.”

“You invited me,” Lucian points out, “and you have not changed your security codes, so I assumed I was welcome to let myself in.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees, scrambling into a somewhat more dignified position, “yeah, no, you just, uh, just startled me.”

He was originally going to put on something nicer than his own merch tank top and the pair of sweatpants that are sometimes pyjama bottoms, but that’s too late now. Maybe it’s better, not trying to look like a functional human being. Not seeming like he’s trying to convince Lucian of anything. 

“I see that,” Lucian says, with the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Aro was being awful, you mentioned?” Peter asks, shifting into something in the general vicinity of a normal human way to sit on a piece of furniture, gesturing for Lucian to join him.

“A little more than usual, yes. He wanted to come with me, but I convinced him it would be more productive if we talked privately, though I fear he thinks that meant something else than I intended for him to.”

Peter nods.

“For a mind reader he is very good at deliberately misunderstanding.”

“Look,” Lucian begins, after a brief silence, “I don’t know if Aro has been giving you any expectations…”

“Oh,” Peter says, putting his hands up, “oh, no. He absolutely has not, I promise. I know he’s been on you about it but I know you don’t- I totally get it, promise. It’s just Aro being a dick and wanting the two of us not to complain about him, I’m pretty sure.”

Lucian looks relieved, which, ouch. But if their roles were reversed, Peter is pretty sure that’s how he would have reacted, too.

“I’m not- I’m not going to make any feelings I have your problem, I promise,” Peter adds, not quite able to make eye contact. 

Lucian sighs, and neither of them speak for a moment. Peter pulls his knees up to his chest, wishing very intensely for this conversation to be over, so he can get black out drunk and forget it ever happened.

“I know,” Peter adds, because Lucian keeps not replying, “that I’m not going to- not be as important as you. To him, I mean. Like, obviously not. The two of you have been together for centuries, I can’t compete with that. And obviously, you have literally all of the time in the world together. And Aro, when we got… together or whatever, he still thought you had died. And I get coming back, it feels a bit as if you’ve been replaced, I guess? But you know that’s not the case. Like, to the two of you, I’m going to die in no time at all. Which is kind of wild to think about, and it’s not like I expect Aro to stick around for when I get old and gross, which is in, uh, a worryingly short amount of time. Is- is that weird and gross to you? That humans just… decay?”

He is rambling, a little bit, but he looks up at Lucian and he doesn’t look annoyed, so that is something.

“It is a little odd,” Lucian admits, with a soft little smile, “but I grew up with some vampires who had been turned when they were fairly old. But the ever changing, also after you reach adulthood, it is… it seems impractical.”

Peter laughs.

“A bit, yeah.”

“Do you not think Aro would try to convince you?” Lucian asks, suddenly serious, “that as you get older it might get easier for him to talk you into it?”

“Oh, probably,” Peter replies, “but not enough I’ll agree. I might be dating a vampire, I might have been one for about ten minutes two years ago, but I’m not letting him turn me. I don’t want to be dead like that, don’t want to be a weird venomous sparkly monster. No offence.”

Lucian shrugs.

“It is a fair description.”

“I have worried, though,” Peter says slowly, “that the reason we keep… going on these hunts, is that he’s hoping eventually I’ll get bitten by one of the vampires we’re fighting. And of course he will be there to make sure I don’t die, but if I turn… And then he’ll be there to help me through it, help me cope, keep me from killing myself. Because then he would get what he wants, without ever having to be the cause, be the bad guy. And even more so, I’d be a weaker vampire than him. Which, I don’t know, maybe it’s a thing he’s into.”

“I don’t think it is,” Lucian says, “because as far as I can tell he does appreciate that I am able to hurt him. Not kill him, perhaps. I would be unlikely to succeed, but he is not invulnerable to me. And as for your point, well. I would not put it past him to try that, but I do not think that is actually what he is currently doing. But I understand your worry. I may not understand your desire to grow old and die unnecessarily, but I do see why you would not wish to become a vampire. I do not either, not any more, not since the fourteen hundreds. Of course, whether or not I would eventually die did not play a role in that choice.”

“No? What do you think he is doing, then?” Peter asks, because he has _thoughts_ about the other stuff Lucian mentioned, and he does not want to discuss them.

“I think he is very focused on the situation in Volterra, and rightly so. And he sees the time he comes back here as time where he should rightfully be having a good time, and the two of us not being terribly good at this relationship situation, at being as agreeable as he would want. And so his solution to that is that if the two of us were to get together we would, presumably, have nothing to complain about, and he could spend more time with both of us. Which, as a logic, I don’t suppose I really can fault.”

Peter leans back, runs a hand through his hair. His love life really has gotten incredibly, ridiculously weird and complicated these days. And Lucian sitting there, just a few feet away, being stupidly attractive really isn’t helping. He looks significantly better now, than he did when Peter first met him. Healthier, less tired (although the dark circles under his eyes do seem to be a permanent fixture), and he smiles more. Also, Peter’s heart beating just a little faster every time he sees him probably isn’t helping, even if it is often accompanied by guilt and awkwardness. But then, what infatuation is not?

“I can see how that would seem like the ideal solution,” Peter says, working hard to phrase it in a way that doesn’t make it sound like he is endorsing the plan, even though he very much is, as they both know, “but he can’t go around deciding other people’s feelings. Glad his powers don’t extend that far.”

“No, he has people for that,” Lucian agrees.

Which, what?

“What?”

“You know how he reads minds? Others in the Volturi can change people’s feelings, affect their decision making, that sort of thing. Force people to be happy and content even if they are locked up in a cell for centuries.”

“Oh, fuck. Oh, I am never fucking going to Volterra, then. That is fucked up.”

“Yes,” Lucian agrees, “but you get used to it, after a while. I was somewhat in awe of the Volturi for a time. They were seemingly infinitely more powerful than the vampires who enslaved me, beautiful and strange. But with time I learned that they too are merely occupied with their own politics and power struggles, nothing more important or interesting. They are simply much more dangerous when they do so. But I agree, it would be wiser for you not to travel there, I think. Aro is one of the three leaders, but some might find the idea of killing his pet vampire slayer too fun to resist.”

“I’m not-”

“To them you are. Even Aro finds the attraction to humans strange, if the vampire does not plan on turning the human.”

“But,” Peter begins, but falters.

But what? But he is more special? He is important? He is worth it? Surely he isn’t stupid enough to think that highly of himself. That he is more than a brief amusement. That-

“That doesn’t mean that he does not genuinely care for you,” Lucian adds, seeming to sense in what direction Peter is spiralling, “he is strange, and different, and ancient, and the way he approaches relationships are different than what you do, but do not think he does not very much genuinely feel strongly about you, despite himself. I do not think it was what he intended to happen, but it did. I promise. He talks of you a lot.”

“He does?” Peter asks, his voice needier than he likes.

“He finds you fascinating,” Lucian confirms, “particularly your rapidly shifting view on the morality of killing vampires. How much your care about it. When you get past your fourth century or thereabout, things like that begin to matter less. You come to accept that everything is complex, and simple black and white morality is rarely enough to explain something like that.”

“Well. Guess that’s something. Doesn’t sound like something which won’t lose the novelty value after a while, though.”

“No? But a while to him might be decades to you. And it is not the only thing. He likes how much you oppose him, he thinks you are very attractive, which he has talked about at length. More, frankly, than he needs to.”

“Agree to disagree,” Peter interjects with a grin.

“He somehow thinks that your dedication to fighting vampires is noble. I do not fully understand his logic.”

“Mm,” Peter agrees, “I love the man but he is a weirdo and a mystery.”

“You do?”

“Huh?”

Lucian looks surprised, and not entirely in a good way.  
“Love him?”

Peter realises with something like dread and wonder all at once that that was, in fact, what he said. Does he?

“I don’t- I don’t know? I meant it as a figure of speech.”

Lucian watches him for a moment, wary.

“But do you mean it?”

“I’m not sure,” Peter admits.

“Please don’t tell him?”

“I won’t,” Lucian promises, “he would be far too smug. But he will find out, you know.”

“I know. I just… I need to work out how… what… this whole thing. Which yes, that’s what I’ve been saying for months, I know. But there’s a lot, and my dumb little human brain can only process so much. I’ve put it through too much shit for anything else.”

“It is understandable,” Lucian says, “that is, I suppose, the upside. Aro can be very patient when he wants to.”

“But you don’t want me to?” Peter guesses, “don’t want this to be serious?”

Lucian hesitates.

“I- getting used to your presence in Aro’s life has been a process,” he begins, “and hearing it is so serious so quick, also from you, it is… somewhat surprising. But I am… happy for you. I will work on being happy for you.”

It is a bit odd, sitting here, looking at Lucian, feeling for him what he does, and hearing him say that. It hurts. It’s what he expected, but it still doesn’t feel good. And Lucian looks apologetic. Perhaps he understands. But as he said earlier, Peter is not intending on making this Lucian’s problem. It is not his fault he is nice, and hot, and sort of noble and impressive and, again, hot. No. That’s Peter’s problem. And he isn’t, he realises, to his surprise, selfish enough to try and do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I am working so hard to make this take so infinitely long, but this is what feels natural, and so you too will have to suffer through.


	35. Exasperation & Exsanguination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People keep giving Aro Ideas and it's, uh, not always a great idea.

“Did it go well?” Aro asks the moment Lucian returns.

He grasps Lucian’s hand in his as he passes, kissing the back of it, bright red eyes flicking up to meet Lucian’s. Lucian can’t help but smile at the sweet eagerness freeing his hand and stroking Aro’s hair briefly, before continuing to the tiny kitchen, setting the plastic bag on the counter and starting to unpack the groceries. He sets down two tubs of blood, and sees Aro’s mildly disappointed look.

“I am attempting to stay undetected, Aro. If you want human blood you will have to hunt it down yourself.”

“Fine,” Aro agrees, “I would not want you to unduly risk yourself. But how was your and Peter’s talk? Did you come to any ...conclusions?”

“Not, I think, the kind you are hoping for, Aro. I am sorry, but trying to force it is, if anything, making this fantasy of yours more unlikely.”

“But he likes you,” Aro argues.

“He does,” Lucian allows, finishing clearing the things away, walking over to Aro and draping himself across him.

Aro kisses his hair, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He isn’t pushing into Lucian’s thoughts, not yet, leaving him to word his reply before doing so. Which is nice. Lucian rests his head on Aro’s shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of him.

“And you like him,” Aro adds.

“As a friend,” Lucian specifies.

“You said you would be up for a threesome if I asked,” Aro reminds him, with something almost like a pout.

“Yes,” Lucian agrees again, “before Peter started to have feelings for me. Which I feel fairly certain he does, not merely attraction, yes?”

Aro nods.

“Then doing so would be cruel. Giving him hope where there is none.”

“None? Is the idea of it so repulsive to you? Is it because he is human? I could bite him.”

Lucian looks at Aro, attempting to convey by his glare how ridiculous he is being.

“I have nothing against him, Aro. I like him. He is kind. He is good looking enough. His show is… sort of terrible and offensive, but only against vampires, and so I wholeheartedly support it. But I simply do not see him that way. And you wanting me to very badly will not help me to, if anything it is more likely to do the opposite. I am not saying that I never will, simply that that is not currently the case, and you are making both of us quite uncomfortable with this terribly insistent meddling.”

“I see,” Aro replies after a brief pause.

“I do not mean that I do not see your point of view, my love. It would be easier, yes. But I am not going to force myself to like someone because it would be convenient. You see that, do you not?”

Aro sighs, then nods.

“Yes. My apologies, sweet wolf of mine. I simply got… excited, about the idea, I think.”

“I understand,” Lucian tells him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, “you are accustomed to getting your way.”

Aro looks briefly as if he is about to protest, but then he smiles.

“I suppose I am, yes.”

“You are very spoiled, I think,” Lucian tells him, more affectionate than berating, and kisses him deeply.

“Slander,” Aro complains when Lucian breaks away for a breath.

“I have centuries of evidence,” Lucian counters, beginning to slowly unbutton Aro’s shirt, “very compelling.”

He presses kisses to the cool skin as he uncovers it, and Aro tangles his hands in his hair. He lowers himself to the floor, kneeling between Aro’s legs as finishes his work, brushing fingers lightly over the growing bulge in Aro’s trousers, and he is just about open Aro’s fly when he speaks up.

“He loves me?”

Lucian sighs. He had gotten too into what he was doing, that was it, not even noticing Aro rooting around in his brain. Resting his arms on Aro’s thighs, he looks up at him.

“Is that really what is on your mind _right now_?” he asks, though he suspects they will have to talk about it now, rather than anything more fun. 

“Well, it was just lingering there, in the back of yours,” Aro replies, crossing his arms. 

Lucian groans, something not entirely removed from a frustrated growl, presses a kiss to Aro’s clothed cock, and gets up and sits down next to him instead, leaning an arm on the back of the sofa. It’s one of approximately four pieces of furniture that came with the flat, and the depth of smell in it has informed him that the previous tenant smoked and had a cat that didn’t quite understand what a litterbox is for. He has managed to strip most of it out, but it is still not ideal. He doesn’t plan on this place being a long term home.

“He said he didn’t know,” Lucian corrects, “and he explicitly asked me not to tell you.”

“And you did not,” Aro assures him with a smile, “I simply found it on my own.”

“I suppose you’ve done that enough to him that he will accept that,” Lucian agrees.

He leans his head on his shoulder, twining his other hand into Aro’s hair. He is manipulative, and sometimes callous, and enormously selfish at times, but oh, Lucian loves him very, very much. And right now, their skin is not touching, and so he is free to keep berating him while feeling oddly and inconveniently terribly fond.

“So what will you do with this information?” Lucian asks, because he doesn’t want to know the answer to his real question, which is of course whether he loves him back.

“I am not sure,” Aro says, staring out of the single small window, which faces the back of another building a few metres away, as if perhaps the answers lie there.

He turns to look at Lucian again, seeming to be in the midst of an internal debate. Lucian lets him, not interrogating him further. He does see now, how all three of them getting together would be advantageous. Then, at least, Aro bringing up Peter as they were getting intimate would be less disruptive. And of course, it makes sense. For Aro those things are linked. He wonders whether Peter has the same experience, and whether it frustrates him as much. Perhaps not, given recent developments.

“You know, he worries you plan to trick him into becoming a vampire,” Lucian says.

“He does? I know he worries I will do it, but… Trick him how?”

“Hoping he will get bitten on one of these hunts. So you won’t be the one doing it, but still get your way, I think he said.”

“I am not,” Aro defends, “he must know that, surely? That I would not?”

“You wouldn’t?” Lucian asks.

“Well. Well, perhaps. If things were different, it does sound like a thing I might do, I agree, but- but it is not. I suppose, were that to happen, it would in some ways be advantageous…”

“Aro.”

“But it is not something I am actively doing!” Aro insists, “I am trying to be a more respectful person. To him. And you. I won’t change him before he agrees to let me.”

“He won’t,” Lucian says.

Not to shut Aro down, not to be cruel, but he feels genuinely certain that that is one thing Peter will never agree to. 

“I… Perhaps you are right.”

Aro glances at Lucian, eyes flicking down to his mouth, and Lucian doesn’t think, for once, that it is because he wants to kiss him.

“No,” he replies pre-emptively, “I won’t. He won’t.”

“But it would be easier for everyone,” Aro argues, pleads, “no need for him to drink blood or harm humans or even avoid the sun.”

“No.”

Lucian has suspected Aro might bring up this possibility for a while now, and while his points are valid, Lucian won’t do it. Of course, Peter does seem to have less against lycans than vampires, and understandably so, but Lucian does not get the feeling that he would enjoy it. Especially given his obvious horror and revulsion at Lucian’s transformations, the few times he has witnessed them. He won’t turn anyone who does not fully agree to it, who does not understand what they are asking for. But that is not the main reason. That is that Lucian can’t take making more lycans and losing them. Cannot bear that responsibility again, not after losing almost everyone. That is the thing, it turns out, about being the originator of one’s species. Everyone becomes his direct responsibility. Every dead lycan is on him. 

-

Aro doesn’t bring it up when next Peter sees him, which is a blessing. It is a few days later, Aro having had some important vampire business to attend to. Peter is about 75% certain this important vampire business is having sex with Lucian. Which like, that’s sort of understandable. Peter isn’t super happy about it, but he also can’t blame him. He would have thought realising he’s kind of into Lucian would make him feel less jealous, but it weirdly doesn’t. He understands Aro’s motivation better, yes, and he doesn’t blame him, but it still does make him feel quite shit. Which probably Aro picks up on, after meeting him. Peter has taken him up to the roof, and brought a few beers for himself, because the sun has gone down, and sometimes it’s nice to have some fresh air, and to be somewhere where Aro can’t distract him with sex, however much Peter enjoys these distractions. He has a feeling there will be _talking_ involved, and he doesn’t super want to, but he agrees that they need to. Hence the beer.

“You did not bring me a drink?” Aro asks, eyeing the bottles with a caricature of sadness.

“You complain about animal blood and I’m not robbing a blood bank for you, what do you want me to do?”

Peter pops off the top of the bottle, taking a swig. 

“Well, you’ve got some perfectly good blood right there,” Aro quips, brushing his fingers over Peter’s throat.

“Go on, then,” Peter says, after a brief pause, and before he can think better of it.

“I- What? Really?”

Aro is looking at him as if he’s grown several extra heads, which based on their previous talks? That’s probably fair. Still, Peter rolls the sleeve of his hoodie up to his elbow on his left arm, and sticks it out in the vague direction of Aro.

“Not my neck,” he adds, “bit, uh. Too visible. Arm, though. Lot of little scars there anyway. Been thinking of maybe getting them covered up with tattoos anyway, so you know. Go for it.”

Aro takes Peter’s arm in his hands, holding with the lightest touch and looking down at it almost reverently. His gaze, bright red, flicks back to Peter, eyebrows raised in a question. The eyes reassure Peter. Better he try it when he is not starving, when it will not be a challenge for him to stop.

“You are certain?”

“Yep. Figure if I lose a little blood getting drunk will be easier for a day or two.”

“Peter, that is not-” Aro begins, but Peter interrupts him.

“If you comment on my unhealthy habits I am retracting the offer.”

Aro hesitates.

“Fair,” he agrees, and he lifts Peter’s wrist up to his mouth, and presses a gentle kiss to his pulse point.

A shiver goes down Peter’s spine. Seeing Aro like that, dark hair falling down and partially covering his face, eyes locked on Peter’s veins, he looks like Munch’s _Vampyr_ , but like, hotter. There is cool breath against his skin.

“Hey, uh. This isn’t gonna turn me, right? I’m just- just double checking. Cause that is very much not on the table still. And forever.”

“It will not,” Aro confirms, “there has to be an exchange of blood. Otherwise there would be a lot more of us.”

“Oh. Yeah. Makes sense. Different than the last vampires who bit me, then,” Peter mutters, relieved.

“I should hope this is not the first instance of me proving different from them?”

“You’re definitely hotter,” Peter tells him, then pauses, “no, wait, hold on. I was one for a couple minutes. It’s pretty even.”

Aro laughs, and leans over to kiss his cheek.

“You are correct, then. All right. Are you ready? It will… sting.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Again, got like ten different vampire bite scars, Aro. Been there done that. Just go for it.”

So Aro pulls his wrist up again, kisses his wrist once more, and then sinks his fangs into the skin. And it’s kind of hot, watching it. And then, a moment later, the pain hits him. It’s sharp, and odd, and a little bit like having his blood drawn. Well, technically it’s a lot like having his blood drawn, just mechanically speaking, but it’s also very different. And again, quite hot. Maybe that’s a side effect of the vampire venom, meant to make your victims less likely to run away. Or maybe it’s because it’s Aro, and he knows he won’t seriously harm him.

Aro’s eyes fluttered close as soon as he began drinking from Peter, his body seeming to sort of involuntary curl around it. The suction is strange, not like the feeling when Aro does it on other parts of his body. But maybe that is the association he has with it, the reason he finds it hot. After a little while he feels himself start to go a little light headed, and his arm twitches, and he nudges Aro’s leg with his own.

“Hey, uh, tapping out now, I think. Aro?”

And Aro, after a few seconds during which Peter’s panic mounts, he lifts his head from the wound, but he does not let go of his arm. A single droplet of blood runs down his chin, like the stereotype image of a vampire. That, too, is quite hot. 

“My apologies, my dear, I simply got carried away. You are delicious and irresistible.”

“Uh. Not too irresistible, I hope?”

“I assure you, Peter, I would much rather be with you than drain you, however delightful your blood tastes. But thank you, for this.”

He bends down and licks the two little wounds.

“Uh,” Peter says, confused.

“The venom can help heal wounds,” Aro explains, “somewhat in a similar capacity as it makes us immortal and indestructible, but on a much, much smaller scale. Not vampiric side effects, I promise.”

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

Aro releases his hand and Peter flexes his arm. It stings a little, but not much. He rolls the sleeve down again. It’s getting a little cold, now, hours after sunset. Cold beer is seeming like a worse and worse idea, even as he drinks more.

“Are you all right? Does it hurt?”

The concern in his voice makes Peter’s heart do stupid things, even as Aro himself is the cause. 

“I’m good,” he promises, though when he gets up, he sways gently. 

Which isn’t ideal on a rooftop. It’s not meant to have people walking around there, and so there is not much in the way of safety precautions. But Aro catches him with an arm around his waist.

“Steady, my dear. I think perhaps we should retreat to your home. Your bed, even.”

Peter makes a face.

“Yeah. Yeah, probably. Oof. Don’t get used to this being a regular thing, okay?”

“I will not, I assure you. But I appreciate it a great deal.”

“My blood is that good?”

Aro makes a non-committal noise, which okay, rude.

“It is, but more-so it is your trust I appreciate.”

“Right,” Peter says, “well, yeah. I mean, I am literally powerless against you if you decide you want to actually hurt me, so. Doesn’t really make a difference, does it.”

“It does,” Aro insists, pulling him close as they descend the stairs into the building proper.

“It means you trusting me with one of the things you fear the most. What a vampire is, at our core. The thing you think makes us monstrous, and you knowing that I will not hurt you. The fact of me being able to overpower you is not relevant. Or at least not very.”

Peter hums in agreement distantly as he puts in the code to his door. He is feeling a little woozy, and allows himself to swoon into Aro’s arms. He is swept up, and carried, gently and carefully, to his bed. 

“I think, perhaps, I drank slightly more than I should,” Aro says, almost to himself.

“Eeh,” Peter says, “can you go- go get me a… something food? Or drink but sugary?”

He has never donated blood because he is using all of it, thank you very much, but he has the vague idea you’re meant to have a snack after, to keep your blood tasting nice and sweet. Which, really, is the wrong way round this time, but still.

Aro returns with a chocolate bar and a small can of soda, neither of which Peter recognises as something he has, but then 80% of his kitchen is uncharted waters to him still, even after living here for more than five years. Maybe it’s something old of Ginger’s. If there was more blood in him that faint sting at her memory might be stronger.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and drinks about half the soda.

It’s not great, too sweet, but it’ll do. He manages to get through most of the small chocolate bar before deciding that’s enough nutrition for now.

“Think I’m going to need to relax a bit,” Peter tells Aro.

“Oh. Of course. Do you wish for me to leave?”

“I very much do not wish for you to leave, you are a crucial part in the relaxing process.”

Aro shrugs off his coat, and joins Peter, shifting closer until Peter can rest his head against his shoulder. He picks the remote up, zapping through a handful of channels before settling on a show he doesn’t recognise about a group of young and disgustingly attractive people trying to both fuck and betray each other in some beachside mansion. 

“This is horrible,” Aro says.

“Mhm. ‘S the point.”

“You do not understand, I am immortal and invulnerable, and somehow this is still actively killing my brain cells,” he insists.

“Working as intended,” Peter agrees, snuggling further into Aro’s side, letting his forehead be gently kissed, having successfully if not avoided, then at least postponed a talk.


	36. Calidarium

Peter looks down at his wrist, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the two little marks, nearly entirely healed over now, just a little red. He wonders if scars will linger, and whether he wants them to. One the one side, it’s kind of creepy, having the literal indent of Aro’s teeth permanently on him, like some fucked up mark of ownership. But Peter had offered, hadn’t he? So it’s not like that was Aro’s intention. And besides, he’s covered in bite scars anyway, and he would much rather have ones that remind him of Aro, the man he- the man he feels something very strong about, rather than random vampires. 

“You all right? You’re not on drugs or anything right now?”

Peter realises he has been staring at his wrist for about five solid minutes, and, being in the dressing room, and not alone, that might be a bit weird.

“Huh? Nope. Not today. I’m very… Sober adjacent, promise.”

The cast member (she’s new, Peter has forgotten her name) rolls her eyes. She’s playing the victim. It’s been hard, finding someone to replace Ginger, someone who manages to exude the right balance of sex and innocence, and look good in light gauzy and almost transparent and vaguely reminiscent of whatever people put Lucy and Mina in in old films. Maybe that’s why he’s not learned her name, because he doesn’t actually really want anyone to permanently replace Ginger, even a year and a half on. 

His phone buzzes, and there is a text from Aro, asking whether he would like some company. Yes, Peter replies, after the show, in a few hours. And he does. The show is going… okay. It’s spring, at least in concept, if not reality in this weird and geographically and temperately confused country, and it’s not exactly peak season for spooky things. The sales are up a little, which is good, but he hasn’t been able to come up with any kind of great improvement to it to boost sales. In the semi fiction he is, of course, meant to consult Lucian about this, the payments are certainly still going out, he’s made sure of that, but lately talking to him is a little awkward. Which, thanks Aro. He’s thought about somehow including werewolves in his show, just for variety, but it’s not super easy to do believably, and he would probably just offend Lucian. Which isn’t what he wants at all.

He wonders, as he shrugs on his long, shiny coat, buttoned in a way to still show off most of his chest (he paid money to be able to do so, and he has to make it worth it), exactly how he will be able to win Lucian over. Because he does very much want to. Not in like a creepy wear him down kind of way, because, you know, yikes, but in a how can he convince him that he is in fact very cool and sexy and worth pursuing romantically and sexually way. Which is, unfortunately, also what Aro wants him to do. And look, he sort of likes that he and Aro wants the same thing, but their ideas of acceptable methods differ somewhat. They both care about Lucian, obviously, they are both, as Lucian has pointed out, people used to getting their way. And so finding a way to convince Lucian to be the joining point, closing this love triangle into a lovely, self contained shape, is challenging. Doing so in a way that isn’t forcing Lucian’s hand is challenging.

Aro isn’t creepily waiting for him when gets up to his penthouse after the show. At least, Peter can’t see him anywhere. When, however, he opens his fridge to get a beer, there are two hospital bags of human blood next to an unopened and long expired carton of juice. Which is, as fridge surprises go, ominous, but less so than it would have been a year ago. He half expects Aro to be standing directly behind him when he turns, like the worst kind of horror movie monster, but he isn’t. So Peter wanders through the flat, drinking his beer, looking.

He finds Aro in the bath, eventually, having run out of other places to look. The water is steaming, and there is a wine glass filled with blood resting on the edge. Aro’s eyes are closed, and he looks almost as if he is sleeping. Relaxed, decadent.

“Hello, Peter,” Aro says, without moving or opening his eyes, “care to join me?”

Peter sheds his costume, piece by piece, and for this Aro watches him, so he tries to make it sexy, but he gets stuck in his overly tight leather trousers, which rather ruins it. Aro does not seem to mind, though, watching him with a soft smile. He sticks his foot in the water, and flinches back because it is the approximate temperature of the lava in the Earth's core.

"Shit! That's, uh, that's a bit too hot for my weak human skin."

Aro frowns, sticks a finger in the water, as if to test it despite having been in it for some time.

"Sorry, my darling, I forget how fragile you are. You know, that is something I could assist with..."

"Just pour some cold water in," Peter tells him, not even bothering to argue.

Vampirism is not an idea he ever has or will entertain. He sits on the edge of the bath while it cools down to something more liveable, stroking Aro's skin. It's strange to feel it hot, and maybe that was what Aro wanted. That, or he's learned by now that Peter is usually kind of sweaty and gross when he finishes his show and this is his way of making entirely sure Peter washes off a bit, gets a bit less smelly.

He sinks down into the still quite hot water gradually, arranging himself between Aro's legs so he can rest his back against his chest. Aro kisses his cheek.

"I have bad news," he tells him, rather than make any sexy implications of what they might do after.

"You're leaving again?" Peter guesses.

"I am afraid so. In a week. Hopefully for quite a short time."

Peter makes an unhappy noise.

"The rest of the Volturi so helpless they can't go more than a forthnight without you?"

"Tragically so," Aro confirms, "I am simply irreplaceable. Nothing that can be done about it. Hopefully the situation will calm down sooner than later."

"Yeah," Peter agrees pausing to dunk his head under the water, "bleh. How long do these things usually last?"

"Oh, rarely more than a few decades. A century at the absolute most."

Peter's face falls.

"Right. Yeah. Only a handful of decades."

Aro runs his hands through Peter's dripping hair, taking something from one of the bottles, hopefully the shampoo, though it smells suspiciously like the shower gel, and rubbing it into Peter's hair. 

"I will not leave you here for long, I promise. I have some powerful vampires to kill, and some others to convince of our being right in this matter. It should take a week at the most."

Aro grabs the shower head, rinsing Peter's hair, and making no move for another bottle. He seems not terribly familiar with human grooming, which must mean his hair just looks like that naturally, which is impressive. Peter chooses to leave it for now, he's not getting into a discussion with a man from 1340BC about the correct way to bathe. 

Peter turns in the water, feeling weightless, until he is face to face with Aro, resting his hands on his shoulders. The skin above the water has grown cooler again, but not by much. He kisses him, soft and gentle and chaste, then less so as Aro presses his tongue to the seam of Peter's lips. The inside of Aro's mouth is cool still, but not cold. A relief, almost, with as hot as Peter feels. Between them, under the water, he can feel Aro's cock stir to life, and a soft wave of arousal goes through him in response.

"You know," Aro murmurs as Peter is busy kissing his neck, adding little bites that don't leave any marks at all, "I saw something fascinating in Lucian's mind, earlier."

Peter sighs, and rests his head against Aro's shoulder.

"Course you did. And it's something we've got to talk about right now, is it?"

"You know, that is much the same reaction Lucian had when I told him."

"Can't imagine why."

"I saw in his mind," Aro continues, ignoring Peter entirely, "that you said you loved me."

Ah.

"Just a phrase," Peter says, but it's not a good defense, because he can feel Aro poking around inside his mind.

He's sort of given up on trying to stop him, by now. With all his claims that Peter's thoughts are too loud for him not to hear, it's literally impossible to hide anything. And to confide, purposely or not, in Lucian.

"Genuinely do not know, Aro," Peter admits, "I don't. I might. Might do so more later. Might already. Certainly feels like I would- like you've broken down all my defenses."

"Against your will?"

Peter looks up at him again.

"A bit. At first, anyway. A lot at first. And then... well. Then not. I didn't intend to, you know, fall for you, but I haven't been able not to. And I don't regret it."

"That is a relief to hear," Aro tells him, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of his ear, "And I do hope you do eventually decide you mean it. Because I do love you, Peter."

Peter doesn't know what to say to that, because the wave of emotion that hits him is overwhelming, and Aro can feel it, can hear it in his heartbeat, can feel the way Peter clings to him as hard as he can. And so yeah. Yes. He probably does too, doesn't he? And Aro must hear or sense that, because he wraps his arms around Peter tightly.

They make love, then, there in the hot water, soft and gentle and entirely undesperate. Peter continues to hold Aro as tight as he can in his arms, inside him, because he doesn't know what to do with these feelings other than keep them, and their source, close. Eventually, though, the water grows cold, and there are some bodily fluids in it, so they clean themselves off and end up on the sofa again, some old black and white horror thing playing on the oversized flatscreen. Aro rests his head on Peter's chest, as he runs his fingers through Aro's still damp hair.

"And how do you feel," Aro asks, "about Lucian?"

Peter makes a noise that tries to express his displeasure with the direction of the conversation.

"I don't want to bother him, is how I feel. I know how uncomfortable it is to have people with unrequited crushes on you keep trying to change your mind. Creepy, that's what it is. He's been pretty clear that he's not into it, and much as I wish that wasn't the case I don't know that I want to try and do anything about it, you know? Clearly his type is vampire nobility, and I'm not that. Can't blame him, either. Stupid getting involved with someone who'll grow old and wrinkly and die in a minute."

"Unless your mind can be changed," Aro adds, dragging his nails softly down Peter's chest, leaving white red lines in their wake, crossing over old scars. 

"Can't," Peter replies, again, always.

"That is a shame, my love," Aro tells him, and Peter shivers at the endearment.

It feels good, feels elating and wonderful and floaty and ephemeral, this new love. Well, this newly declared love, at any rate. Probably it has been building for months. Must have. Right?

"He is wonderful," Aro continues.

"Yeah, not me you've got to convince. He's... don't know. Different to you."

"Good different?"

Peter shrugs. His hands have started making little braids i Aro's hair, with not much input from Peter's conscious brain at all.

"You're both good different. He is less... intimidating, somehow, despite the whole giant terrifying wolf thing. He is nice, and he's saved my life like several times by now. As you know, that is the sort of thing I'm into. And, you know, he's pretty hot. And I didn't think I was poly, you know, but being bi I guess it makes sense I can't just pick one, you know? But it's... it's both of you, right? Not a package deal, but you do belong together, and I felt for a long time like the intruder, coming in and disrupting things, even if technically that was what Lucian was doing. Well, both of us, maybe. And it's like the start of a joke. A vampire and a werewolf and a vampire hunter walk into a blood bank or whatever.”

“He is hot,” Aro agrees, as if that’s as far as he bothered paying attention.

“Yes. Glad you’re following. So yeah, I absolutely do get where you’re coming from, but I feel kind of shitty about the idea of actually pursuing him, y’know? Because like, he’s not into me, inexplicably, but that’s his loss, you know. And my loss, admittedly, but… Yeah. Not sure what to do about it other than wait for me to get over it.”

“Or for him to come to his senses,” Aro suggests.

“Or that. When are you leaving for Volterra again?”

“Not for a few days yet,” Aro promises, and kisses Peter’s chest, just over his heart.

“Going to miss you,” Peter says.

“And I you.”

“Can’t you just like. Skype it in?”

“I fear not, my dear. It’s difficult to use touch based mind reading through a screen, you see.”

“Right. Yes, okay. Point taken. I just. Don’t know. Feel safer when you’re around. Big scary protective vampire,” Peter says, as if he can somehow change Aro’s mind.

“You are taller than me,” Aro points out.

“Well, I- yeah. You know what I mean,” Peter mutters.

“Besides. Lucian will protect you if you need.”

“Mm. Don’t feel comfortable making him do that, but fine. ‘S just. Don’t know. Gotten used to you just appearing here, in the middle of the night. And if you can, then surely it can’t be that much more difficult for another vampire.”

“I did have to use my powers to do so the first time,” Aro reassures him, “Are you attempting to trick me into staying?”

“Yep. Is it working?”

Aro smiles up at him.

“It’s very close. If you throw in some sexual favours I will have to seriously consider it.”

“You’re awful. Okay.”


	37. Light Home Invasion (But Not By The Good Kind Of Vampire)

It’s been two days since Aro left for Volterra again, and Lucian already misses him. But then, he had spent the last two days before he left with Peter. And it’s not as if Lucian doesn’t understand. Aro has limited time with the human. Peter could die any day. Is quite likely to do so, given his life style and hobbies. So it makes sense. What Aro and Lucian have has lasted for centuries so far, and with any luck will last for centuries more. So Lucian can be patient. Which, all right, that makes it sound like he is waiting for Peter to die, which he isn’t, because that would be quite horrible, but he just feels a little bit abandoned right now.

The good thing about Aro going back to Europe is that he might have further news of Lucian’s pack when he gets back. Lucian has been trying to reach out, using old contact info he still has, but understandably, after everything that has been going on, the other lycans have made themselves hard to find. And it is not as if Lucian can announce his survival either, to draw them out. And some of them know of his connection to Aro, might consider him trustworthy, but many won’t. After all, what reason would they have to believe Aro means well now that, to them, Lucian is dead? He is, after all, still formally allied with the Corvinid vampires.

His phone starts to vibrate, and Lucian glances at it. Peter. He doesn’t really want to talk to Peter right now, but Peter doesn’t call, he texts, and so maybe it is important. He stares at the phone for a moment, willing it to stop, but it keeps ringing. He picks up.

“Lucian!”

Peter’s shout is frantic, and there is a lot of noise in the background, footsteps, breaking glass, voices Lucian can’t make out.

“Peter, what is going on?”

“Lucian, you’ve got to- Please! There are vampires here, they’re-”

The call ends, abruptly. Not good. He leaves, barely pausing to lock the door behind him, and starts towards Peter’s home. He has to stay within human limits of speed, which is a handicap, but he manages to get there in ten minutes. In the lift up he starts to shed his clothes, hoping that it won’t stop for anyone else on the way to the locked floor, until he shifts, the last of his fur and teeth growing out as he reaches the top floor. He tosses his things out as he exits, and there is a vampire waiting for him there. 

He snarls. The vampire hisses back. A lot of the glass cases containing weapons and artefacts are smashed, the things Peter has collected thrown across the floor, many broken. Lucian lunges, knocking the vampire to the floor, digging his fangs into her throat before she can fight him. With clumsy claws not quite made for it, he grabs one of the stakes from the floor, driving it into her heart, and she collapses into ashes. 

He hates it. Hates seeing them disintegrate like that. It might be less convenient, but he would honestly rather they stay corpses, so the sight wouldn’t remind him so much of watching Sonja burn. The scent of blood is thick here, but it is almost all from the vampire he just killed. He can hear several more, and he can smell that Peter is still here, but he doesn’t know where he is. Can’t smell his blood, though, which is good. He stalks further into the flat to find the rest of the intruders.

-

Peter watches on the security screens as Lucian eviscerates the vampires in grainy black and white. He’s locked in his safe room, shivering and terrified and cradling his slashed open arm to his chest. A few minutes ago he tried ripping up his shirt to sort of half way bandage it, but it turns out that is hard to do one handed, and his arm hurts too much to do so. 

The vampires showed up out of the blue, and there were half a dozen of them, and it had been very obvious Peter couldn’t take them all, they being between him and his weapons. So he had run to his safe room, barely managing to close the door behind him before they caught him. And then he had called Lucian, because what else was he supposed to do? He doesn’t feel great about it, calling Aro’s other boyfriend to fight his battles for him, but really, he had no choice. And maybe Aro has a point. Not that Peter will be agreeing to being bitten any time soon, but being human, given what his life is like these days, is a liability. But he doesn’t want to be a strange, cold, venomous thing that kills to live.

He watches Lucian take out what he thought to be the last of them, until the corner screen catches his eye. There movement there, another vampire, who must have hid, looking around the crushed glass cases. Bending down, and picking up- shit. The gun with the silver bullets. Peter really should have gotten rid of that, and Lucian won’t know. He’s fast, but he’s not fast enough to avoid a bullet, is he? Fuck. Peter gets up, wincing at the way the flesh of his arm pulls at the wound. Unlocks the safe door, and stumbles, trying to avoid stepping on any broken glass. They’ve trashed the place, which seems uncalled for, countless bottles of expensive alcohol smashed on the ground. 

He sees the shape of Lucian in the other room, but he doesn’t think the vampire has left the hall yet, and he rushes towards it. He hears a curious growl, then the soft sound of Lucian following him. The vampire in the hall seems to be waiting for him, holding the old gun up to the light, watching it glint, then pointing it towards Peter as he enters. He freezes. Debates whether to put his hands up, but he respects this vampire as little as he respects police, so he doesn’t.

“Don’t,” he says, too loudly, as he hears Lucian approaches.

The vampire grins at him, showing off sharp teeth like needles. It looks like the same type as Jerry. Horrible. It is, or was, a young woman, one who could well have been cast in his show. She has the right look, but the vampirism is a bit too authentic. Her eyes are all black.

“Come out to protect your guard dog?” the vampire taunts, waving the gun around, aiming at some place between the two of them.

“Don’t,” Peter repeats, and Lucian growls.

“Aww, what’s wrong, big bad wolf, don’t like being told what you are?” she asks in a sickly sweet voice. 

“Shut up,” Peter tells her, and tries to edge towards where he sees a stake on the floor.

“Uh-uh, no, bad hunter.”

“What are you even here for?” Peter asks, “this is the wrong way around. I creep into your lairs and kill you.”

“That’s kinda the problem,” the vampire agrees, “not very popular with vampires, vampire hunters. Don’t suppose you’ve considered that. And making a vampire and a werewolf help you do it? That’s perverse.”

“Lycan,” Peter corrects, automatically, then continues, “okay, but like. We’re not the ones who eat humans.”

“How do you think your vampire boyfriend feeds?” the vampire asks, and okay, fair, she has a point.

Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing. Stalling, maybe? For what? Until she gets distracted enough he can try to disarm her? But it doesn’t matter, because she straightens out the gun, and aims it at Lucian. Peter has a split second to move before she fires, and he tries to put himself in the way of the bullet.

It doesn’t quite work. The bullet does graze his arm, but he hears it hit Lucian behind him, eliciting a loud snarl. Peter doesn’t know how serious it is, doesn’t have time to. The gun is old and takes a minute to reload, but he’s not sure whether the vampire knows that. So he lunges for the stake on the ground, and by the time the vampire follows him, trying to crowd him into the floor, he presses the stake into her chest. He doesn’t hit the heart on the first try, but hurts the vampire enough that he manages to take advantage of her pain and distraction to drive it in properly.

“Lucian,” he shouts, brushing the vampire ash from himself as he hurries over to see if he’s okay.

He can’t even see the wound, but Lucian has fallen to the floor. He pushes himself up, though, as Peter watches, baring his fangs, eyes squeezed shut, and then, inexplicably, a silver bullet slowly seems to push itself out of his chest, dropping to the floor with a soft clinking sound.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Peter asks.

Lucian, being very wolfy still, does not reply.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “I’m so sorry, I should have got rid of that thing, ages ago, I just- I’m sorry.”

He nods, his face unreadable. Well. It’s mostly always unreadable when it’s like this. Peter watches him for a moment, seeing the tiny wound heal itself, and then throws his arms around him, burying his face in the thick fur on his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.

Lucian freezes for a moment, then slowly wraps his arms around Peter. They stay like that for a moment, then Peter pulls back.

“Sorry,” he tells him again, “sorry, I’m just. I was scared that was going to kill you. I don’t… Sorry. And, uh, and thank you. For coming. And saving me. Again. I- I didn’t know what else to do, there were just- just so many of them.”

Lucian starts to shift, to change back to human, and this time Peter makes himself watch. Makes himself think of it as just different stages of Lucian, even though it looks gross and scary and painful. It’s probably less awful than it looks. It has to be, right? 

When Lucian is fully human, Peter turns away, to give him some privacy while he gets dressed. Now that the immediate danger is over, his arm is starting to hurt again. Both of them, now. Great.

“It’s fine,” Lucian replies, amongst sounds of rustling fabric, “normal silver bullets are not the worst threat to me. Painful, yes, and important to get out as fast as possible, but not really deadly. Not yet, anyway. I appreciate the effort, though.”

“Now,” he adds, re-emerging into Peter’s view, “are you okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the first part of a longer chapter, but I'm splitting it up because it's currently 5:30 am and I don't think I will have time to write tomorrow


	38. Aftermath

A few minutes later, they’re sat in the kitchen, with Peter’s small first aid kit open in front of them. 

"You should find a healer," Lucian suggests, because evidently he still lives in medieval fantasy land.

Which, given his whole thing, might actually be the case. Huh.

"A doctor, you mean?"

"If you prefer," Lucian agrees, finishing cleaning the worst of the blood from Peter's largest wound.

One of the vampires had gotten him with one of his own stakes, which is pretty embarrassing. And those thing can do a lot of damage to skin if not treated right, it turns out.

"Can't you just bandage it?" Peter suggests.

"I think you need to sew it close," Lucian argues, "and I don't have the skill and you don't have the supplies. Go to the closest doctor place-"

"Hospital? Emergency room?"

"I have very little experience with human medicine, Peter, and the words do not translate directly, and you understand perfectly well what I mean."

"Yeah," Peter admits, "sorry. Will, uh, will do."

"And I will stay, and perhaps clean up some of the vampire remains to make sure you get back without getting yourself killed, all right?"

He sounds tired. Peter can't blame him, but he does feel terribly guilty. All the things he's putting him through, and which he only does because Aro would be mad. Well, okay. That's unfair to Lucian. He does seem to like Peter, and he would probably have come even if Aro wouldn't be upset. And so he has. He has, yet again, saved Peter. And he doesn't have to be cheerful and upbeat about it.

"Thank you, Lucian, I mean it. And I'm sorry."

-

Peter disappears into the lift, and Lucian is left alone in the absolute mess. It stinks of vampire blood, foul and dead and with a very wrong scent. Like prey that's been dead a while, not safe to eat. Which okay, it is better than when the aftermath smells like a meal. He is reasonably sure Peter would not be glad to learn that human flesh does smell like food to Lucian. Not his favourite, certainly, but something in a time of need.

He starts with the glass. Why is there so much broken glass? Why does Peter have so much of it? It has been a while, has it not, since it was a rarity for humans? At least a century, Lucian feels certain. It's got to be. It seems like more trouble than it's worth, so many breakable things. Better metal goblets. He gets the worst of it out of the way, enough so it is at least possible to walk through the flat without accidentally impaling your feet, and then starts on the blood. It’s probably less bad to Peter and his very weak sense of smell, but to Lucian it is intense and overpowering.

A little later, when he has gotten the vampire blood out of the floor, but not the furniture, he calls Aro.

“Lucian? My love, it is good to hear from you-”

“Vampires attacked,” Lucian interrupts, “more than half a dozen of them. Broke into Peter’s flat.”

He hears Aro take a breath, and the sounds of his footsteps on the marble floors, and then the heavy closing of a door. Lucian tries to visualise it, but he has spent little time in the headquarters of the Volturi. It’s all dark marble halls, he thinks. Oddly empty, devoid of all the things those who still live need. And too many silver decorations for his personal preference.

“What happened?”

“I am not sure. Peter called me, from his safe room. I think it was a reaction to the hunting. Perhaps he, or we, have been a little too efficient.”

Aro mutters, briefly, in his ancient and incomprehensible variant of Greek, maybe a curse.

“You took care of it, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Are you hurt?”

“They shot me with a silver bullet, but it belonged to Peter. I’m fine.”

“Is he?”

This seems to be asked with a little more urgency, and much as Lucian realises this is because Peter is weak, and human, and always in more danger, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed at that.

“He has a few cuts. I made him go see a healer.”

“Good. Good. Did you get the opportunity to question any of them?”

“No,” Lucian replies, “I was a little busy tearing their throats out. And not in a state where speech was possible.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I will investigate this when I return. You will look after him until then, yes?”

“I will.”

“And, of course, yourself.”

“I will. Do you know yet when you will return?”

“Not yet. Soon, I hope.”

Lucian sighs.

“All right. I miss you.”

“And I you, my love.”

Lucian promises he will make Peter call him, and hangs up, settling in to wait for the human to return. He can’t help but feel some amount of sympathy for the vampires he killed. Yes, obviously, he cannot let them hurt Peter, but he knows what it is like to be hunted, and it is not a good way to live. While he was young he frequently defended the vampires from human attacks, and they were vicious, if not always very effective. And the vampires of his youth didn’t even feed of the local humans so much as they exploited them economically and for their silver. 

It worries Lucian a little, how instinctual his reaction to Peter’s call had been, how he hadn’t even thought about it, had just ran to help. He feels, he realises, quite protective of Peter. He is like a near defenceless puppy, someone the pack has to help protect and teach. Which is a little unfair to him, but also a little true. And perhaps that is it. That now that Lucian has no pack to protect, some part of him has redefined Aro and Peter as his pack, because here and now he has no one else. And lycans are not meant to be alone. That sounds right. A very tiny pack, comprised mostly of non lycans, but a pack nonetheless. 

Peter returns after two hours, complaining about the long lines at the emergency room. Both his arms are bandaged, and he seems in a worse mood than when he left.

“I talked to Aro,” Lucian tells him, “told him what happened. He was worried about you.”

“He should be,” Peter says, “can’t help but feel it’s somehow his fault a bit.”

“Because he is a vampire?”

Peter shakes his head, and sinks down into a chair. There are a couple of deep gouges in the arm rest.

“That the vampires?” he asks, nodding to it.

“No. That was me. My apologies.”

“Eh. No worries. Goes with the ambiance. And no. Not because he is a vampire, but because before he came into my life I had deliberately gone out to hunt vampires a total of four times. It’s been a lot more, and a lot more efficient, since then. And, what with him, and now you, as well, the vampires in question can be more numerous, more powerful than any I would have tried to take on myself. I may not be great at staying alive, but these hunts were never like a suicidal thing, you know? Because odds are I might get bit instead, become a vampire, and I would never accept that. So I used to just go after ones more my own size.”

“Ah,” Lucian says, “yes, then I do see your point. I think perhaps that he sees it as helping you reach your potential. Or else he feels there is not enough challenge in it for him. I am not certain.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

Peter disappears into the kitchen for a bit. Lucian looks around, seeing all the signs of the vampiric break in that linger still. A stake, broken into three pieces, sticking out from under a chair. Marks from his own claws on furniture, on the wall. A crack in a door where he had thrown one of the vampires. Very real marks, now, of the way the supernatural has invaded Peter’s life, mostly against his will. Lucian does feel bad. Not for the damage, Peter has enough money that that doesn’t really matter, and Aro even more so should it be an issue, but for the fear Peter must feel. He told Lucian, about the way the vampire who killed his parents had also appeared here. Lucian imagines it must be a little as if Viktor suddenly showed up in Lucian’s home, only he was unable to fight back.

“Would you like me to stay?” he asks, when Peter returns, carrying two mugs of coffee which smell suspiciously like they contain alcohol, “for tonight, I mean, until you can reset your security system properly. I would offer to let you stay with me, but it is too small to really accommodate a platonic house guest. Or someone who needs to sleep.”

He’s giving Peter ideas, he sees, which isn’t his intention at all. But he can see the faint blush on Peter’s face, hear the slight up-tick in his pulse. But Peter doesn’t make any comment about it. He has been admirably quiet on the subject lately, which Lucian appreciates. He supposes he cannot help the reactions, even if they telegraph his feelings to Lucian very obviously. Perhaps to another human it would be subtle.

“You don’t have to,” Peter says, curling up in the chair, steaming mug perched on his knees, arms carefully placed so as to not put pressure or strain on his stitches.

“I know I don’t,” Lucian agrees, “I am offering. I imagine this… this attack leaves you not feeling entirely safe here.”

Peter narrows his eyes.

“Aro tell you to?”

“Yes,” Lucian admits, “but that is not why I asked. I cannot imagine what it is like to be so powerless in the face of vampires who attack you, but it must be terrifying.”

“Rude,” Peter says, “but you’re not wrong. All right. If you- if you don’t mind, I would, uh, I would appreciate it.”

He looks tired, and scared, and Lucian can’t blame him. It is a lot to go through, for a human. To him, a vampire attack has been the norm, almost, for centuries, but to Peter this is new, and exhausting, and far more than he can reasonably handle. And against his will, Lucian feels as though it is his responsibility to make sure this slightly useless human does not get himself killed. And Aro’s feelings on the matter barely even enter into it. Which is worrying. And not something Aro should ever know, because he will think his stupid plan is working, and will be entirely to smug about the whole thing. But that is not what it is.

Briefly, Lucian worries that the attack might be orchestrated by Aro. Some attempt, perhaps, at trying to trick Lucian into feeling more protective of Peter. And to make Peter, in turn, feel more strongly as if he and his safety depends on the two of them. He would not put it entirely past him, doing something like that, but no. The way he had reacted, it seems unlikely. And he knows Peter, knows what he has been through at the hands of vampires, and it would be terribly cruel of him, more so than Lucian thinks he would risk.

When Peter goes to bed, Lucian changes back to his wolf shape. Which isn’t entirely pleasant, because it means the lingering stench of vampire blood is even more unavoidable, but it feels like the right choice still. His senses are all more acute like this, and he feels more certain that he will be able to detect any intruders as soon as at all possible. Not, of course, that it is likely. Hopefully it will not be. He stays awake until the sun rises, a few hours later, by which time they should at least be safe from vampires. Anything more he can’t guarantee.


	39. Worries in Volterra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Volterra, there are worries. In Vegas? Werewolves. Well. One of them, anyway.

Aro paces, his footsteps echoing in the dim marble hall. This place manages to be at once austere and ostentatious. Empty. Lifeless. Like him, perhaps. It takes inspiration from the architecture of old Greece, but not as it once was. No, renaissance-like it takes inspiration only from the remains, white ionic columns raising from the ground, like the sun bleached ribs of some long dead creature, rather than as he remembers them. Colourful, teeming with life and noise. Filled with people.

He is waiting to hear back from Peter, to know he is well. It has been hours since Lucian called. He finds himself unable to focus on his work, and so he has retreated to his private study, where he frets. He would call, himself, but something keeps him from it. Perhaps Peter is busy having his wounds tended to by the human doctors, or else the vampires might have come after him again, and the sound of his phone could alert them to his presence. No, it is better to wait for him to make contact, Aro concludes.

Loving a human, he has come to understand, is terribly stressful. It has been a long time since last it happened. Sulpicia, of course, was a human for a while, before she allowed him to grant her the gift of eternal life. But the vampire based crime rates were low in the late Roman Republic, everyone being too busy plotting against each other. And no one would take a woman seriously enough to see her as a threat, at least not someone as far removed from the primary political adversaries at the time as she. And now she is powerful in her own right, and not present to console him about his present worries. And perhaps his worry for a loved one is not what she would be the most sympathetic towards. He had, at one point, abused the powers of certain members of the Volturi to keep her safe, but not in a consensual way, and though it has been three hundred years she has yet to forgive him. As is her right.

He sits down on the divan, brought in originally for the purpose of sex, though his most vivid (or no, that is a joke. His most treasured?) memory of it's use is the one time he had brought Lucian here, and spent an entire night watching his lycan lover sleep. It had been quite early in their relationship, before either of them quite realised the danger of Lucian being seen here. The fifteen fifties, Aro thinks, or thereabout. He can still see him in his mind's eye, every detail perfect, spread out, skin pale against dark crimson silks. Chest rising and falling gently, and, when Aro sat down next to him, gently moved his head into his lap, his hand reaching up, curling around Aro's own. It had been such a beautiful display of trust. It was the first time, too, that Aro saw Sonja.

Lucian, even six centuries later, dreams of Sonja every night. It is both, Aro thinks, a blessing and a curse. Often, it is of her death. Of being there, chained, forced to watch her burn. When Aro is there, watching, he has enough presence, enough agency to act, though he never knows if Lucian is aware of it. So he kneels down next to Lucian, desperate, and pulls the silver hooks from his back, and stays with him as he watches.

Other times, it is happier dreams. Of their secret meetings, on towers just before dawn, in dark forgotten dungeons of the castle, in the abandoned chapel. Often they make love, other times they simply stare into each others eyes. They rarely talk. Aro does not think this reflects their reality, but perhaps that it has been so long that Lucian no longer can recall her voice. In the happiest dreams of all, and also the rarest, they have escaped their fate, ran away together, and have a child. Aro thinks these dreams are the hardest for Lucian.

The phone in his hand vibrates, and the screen lights up with an image taken from Peter's website, grainy and not capturing him well at all.

"Peter?"

-

"Peter?"

"Huh? Yeah. Sorry. I'm listening."

"I was asking," Lucian continues, "whether you have had the security issue fixed?"

"Uh, soon. I can't tell them what happened, right, because they'll check the security cams, and see seven people go in and none leave. So it's been challenging convincing them it's a proper emergency. They promise this week, though. Don't know why it's such a hassle changing it, but apparently that's part of the security."

"If you want, I can stay until Aro returns," Lucian offers, voice kind, and only very subtly implying that Peter is stalling.

He isn't, it's genuinely apparently a huge issue, but he doesn't exactly mind.

"You don't have to," he tells Lucian again, I'll be fine. Probably. I can sleep in my panic room. If you help me drag a mattress in there I won't be- won't be a bother any more."

He isn't, he admits, putting as much effort into being convincing as he could. Because of course he wants Lucian to stay. But just accepting right away, it's. Well, he's not doing that.

"And I again, am offering. I do not mind. I have to say that this place is a little more comfortable than the place I picked. The water in the shower is warmer than fifteen degrees, for example. You would think heated water would not be difficult to come across in this desert town, but evidently it is still quite a challenge. I will simply have to go by there and pick up a few things."

Peter can see what Lucian is doing here, but he lets him, anyway. He's too selfish, and there is something terribly comforting about having him there.

"Yeah, all right, since you're offering. Bloodsucker said he'd be home in a week, I think." 

"That was my impression also."

Peter follows Lucian into the living room, draping himself in the loose approximation of a sitting position across the sofa. An open can of beer balances precariously on his chest. It's imported from Belgium and costs a small fortune and there is only a 45% chance he'll spill it over his stupidly expensive designer top, which Lucian had genuinely asked whether got destroyed in the attack. The nerve of that wolf, no fashion sense at all.

"Do you like wolves?" Peter asks, apropos of nothing.

Lucian looks at him for a moment, with an air annoyance.

"Do you like monkeys?"

"I do, actually, yeah. Clever little bastards. Know how to treat mean zoo-goers. Some of 'em can can even learn sign language. Well, apes. Same difference."

Lucian blinks.

"Fine. Yes. I do like wolves. Mostly because they are the only animal that is terrified of me."

"Really?"

Peter sits up a bit more, beer wobbling dangerously before he catches it.

"We are predators," Lucian says with a shrug, "and animals can tell. Even the domesticated ones. Dogs, too, even as close as they are to wolves dislike us. Horses, too, which was quite inconvenient before the advent of the automobile."

"Automobile," Peter mutters, shaking his head.

"I met a pack of them, while I was living up North," Lucian continues, graciously failing to acknowledge Peter's gentle mocking, "or rather, I met a pup of theirs. Just a little thing, half a year old. It had gotten itself into a fight with a moose. It was never going to win, of course, but with the foolish courage of youth it was refusing to back down. It had taken a bad kick to the side when I came across it. And out of some lupine loyalty I decided to help. Killed the moose. Pup ran off, and came back a few hours later with their whole pack. They kept bringing me small prey for a few weeks, as, presumably, thanks, before they moved on. Kinder than many humans."

"They do sound like good boys," Peter agrees, and Lucian only glares a little.

The dog jokes are so easy but he does need to cut down of them if he is to have any hope of convincing Lucian to _like him_ like him. Which still isn't seeming particularly likely. He gets the feeling, sometimes, like being hit in the stomach with a bowling ball, that Lucian finds him irritating, doesn't like him at all, despite what he says. Good motivation, if nothing else, to try to be less aggravatingly himself.

"You said," Peter begins, trying to find the right balance between expressing interest and bringing up trauma and failing, "that when your- uhm. Your wife died, that she was pregnant, right?"

"She was murdered. But yes."

"Right, I- sorry. I was just wondering, did you ever have any other children?"

"The first and only time I got a woman pregnant her father murdered her and made me watch. So no, no I have not."

"Shit. Sorry. But really? I mean. I know there was Aro and stuff, but it's been over five hundred years and like. It's my understanding contraception is kind of a new thing."

Lucian looks at him, with a raised eyebrow and something almost in the vicinity of a smile.

"I should hope you know, Peter, by now, that there are alternatives that do not lead to pregnancy."

Peter feels himself flush, not because of what Lucian is saying, but because he is the one saying it. He forces himself not to look away. It's not as if Lucian won't notice anyway.

"I. Yeah. Uh."

"It is not as if these activities were invented in the last few decades simply because that is when you discovered them," Lucian continues, seeming to delight in Peter's discomfort.

Peter, on the other hand, would like very much to bury his face in a pillow. And additionally, only adding to this, is the fact he is now picturing these things Lucian is talking about, and he's getting a little horny. He needs to just stop having conversations. It's much easier if he is just attracted to someone, that's fine, he can be just cool and normal and sexy, but having actual feelings turns him into a socially and romantically inept teenager, apparently.

“But I dedicated my life to recreating what Sonja and I had done. A hybrid between vampires and lycans,” Lucian continues, taking pity on Peter and changing the subject, “and besides. There were children in the pack often enough. It was never something I missed.”

“Yeah? I guess that makes sense. Also, I mean. You sort of made your entire species, right, so technically they’re all sort of your children.”

Lucian’s face crumples into confusion, disgust and worry. So he has definitely slept with some of them, then. Good to know. 

“No. No. There are- well. Not any more, but there were lycans who were older than me, too. So. No. No. That’s not- that’s not what happens when you bite someone. That’s-”

Peter worries, briefly, that he has broken Lucian. Aro will not be happy.

“It’s different,” he concludes.

“How are there lycans older than you?” Peter asks, instead.

“When I was young, they would starve me, before the full moon. Lock me in a cage, shove humans in with me. Force me to attack them, bite them. And usually these were grown men. So, older than me.”

“Right. Every single thing you tell me about yourself makes me more relieved to be born in the present, and as just a boring old human.”

Lucian’s face softens.

“You’re hardly boring. Nor untouched by horrifying vampire based trauma. It is simply a different kind.”

“Yeah, sure, but not like… centuries of slavery kind of trauma.”

“No. But that does not make its impact less. But yes, there are certainly things that are easier about the present day. Personally I like the running water and heating. And electric lights.”

“Those are good,” Peter agrees, “but I do envy you, and even more Aro, the whole… Having lived through history a bit. It seems, you know. Exciting. Not necessarily fun at the time, I assume history doesn’t really feel like history, but… I mean, seeing the world develop, civilisations rise and fall. That’s got to be kind of amazing, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Lucian says, “but you are right. It doesn’t feel like it. We didn’t really… Know. It took me ten years to learn of the fall of the Eastern Roman Empire. And, of course, I did not pay much mind to human affairs, other than to keep marching armies away from us, keep them out of our affairs. It was different, is different, I think, for Aro. Living in a city, being involved, somewhat, in the human world.”

“Huh. So like. You’re not the invaluable source of historical and archaeological information I assumed?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then why am I even talking to you? Useless.”

“Clearly,” Lucian agrees, “unless you are particularly interested in thirteenth century smithing or how to renovate a castle to sixteenth century living standards.”

“I’m sure there’s a phd student somewhere writing a thesis on a combination of those two exact things.”

Lucian looks good in the dim light of the single lit lamp. His hair hangs tangled over his shoulders, a dark contrast to his skin, his surprisingly light eyes. They are watching him back. He tries not to read into that. They’re in a darkish room. There’s not a lot else to look at. 

“Do you miss them?” Peter asks, “your pack? Which, that doesn’t sound right. I mean, course you do. But do you miss like. Having a bunch of people relying on you? Or is it kind of a relief not to?”

Lucian looks thoughtful, but, fortunately, not overly offended. 

“You are right in that I do miss them, and miss having a pack, but having to worry about so many people, many of whom seemed very intent on finding trouble, getting into skirmishes with the vampires… That responsibility I do not miss, though you seem equally talented at being attacked by vampires.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees, “but I’m not actually your responsibility. Or only sort of, while Aro’s gone. Not like I’m part of your pack.”

“You sort of are. You and Aro,” Lucian says, because evidently he wants Peter to fall even more for him, “it is not as if I have anyone else here.”

Peter can’t think of a snarky reply, because he is busy wondering why his can feel his pulse with his wrists and fingertips, why he suddenly feels so very warm, and also like he might cry. 

“Yeah?” he manages after a moment.

“I think so. Of course, neither of you are lycans, but even still. As close as it gets. I do not think my kind are meant to be alone.”

Which, again, just really makes Peter want to hug him. He doesn’t.

“Could always gnaw on some more people instead?” he suggests, trying to alleviate the absolutely overwhelming emotion.

“No. No. I do not want to bite anyone who doesn’t fully understand what they are signing up for… Not any more. And I do not want to tell any humans of our existence. So there is not really any way to do both. Without, I suppose, killing anyone who says no. But that does sort of negate the morality of the first part.”

“It would, yeah,” Peter agrees.

Does that mean Lucian means for lycans to die out? Or simply that he trusts other members of his species, however many remain, to keep the population up for him. And it doesn’t seem that hard of a thing to convince people to agree to. Eternal life, near unlimited healing powers, and okay, sometimes your turn into a large wolf thing, but Peter has experienced worse monthly afflictions, and you don’t seem to be anywhere near as monstrous as any film would lead one to believe. Not too bad, as becoming a classic monster goes. Nothing Peter would consider for himself, however much Lucian saying he’s part of his pack makes his heart somehow spread out to be his entire body, but he can see a sort of abstract appeal.


	40. Chapter 40

When Aro returns, it is without much warning, as usual. Maybe it is to avoid giving them expectations for him not to live up to, or maybe it’s the inherent creepy monster needs to sneak up on people without warning. Lucian and Peter are hanging out, if being sat at opposite ends of a sofa using separate phones and not talking counts as hanging out, when Lucian looks up.

“Aro is back,” he announces, but it is two entire minutes until Peter hears the lift doors slide open, and Peter wonders again how absolutely insanely sharp lycan senses are.

Peter puts down his phone, leaning, hanging halfway over the back of the sofa, so as to see Aro as soon as he appears. He rounds the corner, pale in this light, pale in any light, dressed in all black. He looks at Lucian accusingly.

“You were not at your home.”

“Hello, my love, it is good to see you too,” Lucian replies, and Peter grins. 

Aro huffs, and comes to settle between the two of them, as if they were in the middle of a conversation and he hadn’t been on another continent for a week and a half. Peter shuffles a bit closer, reaching out, wincing at the movement in his arm, and pulling Aro into a brief kiss.

“Missed you,” he murmurs.

“I was here,” Lucian clarifies, belatedly, “trying to ensure no more vampires break in here and kill Peter.”

“Which I appreciate,” Peter says.

“Yes,” Aro says, “how are you? All healed now, yes?”

Peter shakes his head, carefully rolling up his sleeve to demonstrate.

“Getting the stitches taken out in two days. Don’t heal that fast.”

Aro looks down at the wound, then sighs.

“I forget how fragile you are, sometimes.”

“Not fragile,” Peter protests, feeling oddly attacked, “just human.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant. I am starting to think it is irresponsible of me, causing you such danger simply by being associated with me. Perhaps it would be better if-”

“No,” Peter protests, not even wanting to hear what Aro feels like he should do, because it sounds like the start of a break up, “no. It’s- I mean. It’s the hunting, right? Which yeah, sure, been doing more of that since you came into my life, and doing so more efficiently, which probably doesn’t help, but it’s not- it’s not inherently you. And gonna have to take a break from that anyway, because, you know, need arms that don’t hurt when I move for that purpose. So maybe. Maybe it’ll be fine. I’ll get some more security stuff. Not alarms, because that’s just inviting more snacks for the vampires, but. I don’t know. Garlic. UV lamps. Crosses. Spray of holy water. A warning sign saying my blood doesn’t taste good.” 

“Garlic doesn’t harm us,” Aro points out.

“Sunlight doesn’t harm you either,” Lucian argues, “but it burns other vampires in seconds. There may be those who are in fact harmed by garlic.”

“Yeah!” Peter agrees, inspired by Lucian’s support, “the ones who attacked, those guys are weak to Christianity. Or religion in general? I’m not sure how that works. I think you’ve got to believe in it, though, so. Probably won’t work for me. But like, if there’s holy water, blessed by someone who does believe? Might do.”

“Yes,” Aro agrees, “there are things you can do to protect yourself, but as long as you are human you will not be entirely safe.”

Peter pouts, and hears Lucian tell Aro something in a language he doesn’t understand. Judging by the tone, though, it’s some sort of love declaration. It sounds sweet.

“Are you certain, my darling, that you cannot be swayed?”

“In relation to you biting me? Yeah, pretty sure. I don’t- I really don’t, and I don’t mean that as a reflection of you, but I really don’t want to be a vampire.”

“Because you hate us that much?”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Don’t hate you, Aro. I don’t love that you’re a vampire, but I don’t like you despite it. Not any more, at any rate. Quite a lot of that happening a few months ago. But there’s stuff about your vampirism that I like. I mean, you’ve lived through so much and have like, millennia of being interesting and stuff to tell me. You’re nice and cool, which is convenient in this awful desert heat. You look nice when you sparkle, even if that shit’s still weird as fuck. The fangs are sexy. The creepy eyes, too. They suit you. But for my own sake? Can’t get past the blood drinking.”

“It is not so bad, once you get used to it.”

And it’s not like Peter doesn’t understand. And maybe the comparative ease with which he fell for Aro was helped by his knowing he literally cannot lose him. It was such a short time after Ginger’s death, and maybe that is a factor. And the same, really, with Lucian. He too is relatively invulnerable. Or at least, very significantly more so than Peter himself. He doesn’t like being the weak and useless one, but at least he is the person who will be lost, not the one to lose someone, and there is comfort in that.

“Sure. But I can’t do it.”

“You did not think, I believe, that you could be in a relationship with a vampire, either, and that was not that long ago,” Aro insists.

“Aro,” Lucian says, “I don’t think he will change his mind.”

“Wolfman is right,” Peter says, “and you’ve been in my head. You should know. It’s nothing against you, I just- I can’t. Won’t. Can’t let myself become the thing that killed Ginger, killed my parents. I know you’re not the same as him, but- but no.”

“Well,” Aro says, “then perhaps, if you would be more amenable-”  
“No,” Lucian interrupts, “you don’t get to offer that, Aro.”

Which, interesting. Based on that reaction, Peter can only assume that Aro was about to suggest Lucian bite him. And that they have discussed it before, and Lucian doesn’t want to. And Peter, knowing himself, must be vigilant so as not to let this fact make him want Lucian to bite him purely out of spite. But why doesn’t Lucian want to? Other than the fact Peter has been pretty clear about wanting to remain human? Because if anything Peter fits the parameters he described. Minus the wanting. Then, what? Peter would make a poor lycan? Or is it that Lucian is counting on Peter being human, on his fragility, his facility for death, so that in a few years Lucian might have Aro all to himself again in not too long? That doesn’t seem like something Lucian would do, it seems a bit callous for him. But maybe it is understandable. Might not Peter have felt the same if their positions were reversed? If he was suddenly forced to share Aro, and on top of that forced to protect the newcomer? Yeah. Yeah, Peter understands.

“Look,” Peter says, “doesn’t matter, right? I like, y’know, being human. Want to stay this way, even if it is a bit inconvenient for you Aro. Besides. Might regret making me able to stay around indefinitely. I’ve been told I can grate.”

“Peter,” Aro says, managing somehow to to make his name both admonishment and endearment.

He turns to face him, properly, stroking his cheek with a cold hand, unnatural red eyes kind. They are darker now, Peter sees. He hasn’t had time to take care of himself, then. Too busy with whatever he does in Volterra.

“I will endeavour to respect your wishes, my dear, but I do worry about you. It is… more stressful than I remember, caring about a human, even in these modern times, when there should be fewer dangers.”

“Sorry to be inconvenient,” Peter mutters, more spitefully than he should, almost immediately regretting it.

“You are not. I promise you.”

“Yeah, I… Sorry.”

Neither of them leave that night, which is odd. Aro joins Peter in bed, and he cannot help but feel slightly guilty at this, at Aro choosing him, at the same time as he knows full well he himself would be upset if Aro went to Lucian instead. It’s a difficult situation to navigate, however much he tells himself that he has entered into this situation willingly, that it is his responsibility to leave it if he feels he cannot deal with it. But he has never been good at being responsible, or selfless. So he clings to his beautiful, strange vampire lover, the enjoyment tempered only a little. Aro, graciously, has not tried to read his mind yet. 

His hands, cool and gentle, hold Peter close. Peter presses himself as close as he can get, wanting as much contact as possible, touch starved after the week and a half apart. He can’t imagine giving this up, not yet, not ever. Not as long as he lives, however short a time that will be. Can’t imagine not having this strange inhuman being love him, have him in his bed, holding him.

“How was everything, back home?” Peter asks, a bit sleepy now, but not wanting to give up on Aro’s company, not quite yet.

“Not ideal,” Aro admits.

Peter moves to rest his head on Aro’s chest, arms wrapping around him, holding him in place. He runs his fingers over the odd texture of Aro’s skin, dry and smooth and entirely unlike human skin, but comforting and familiar all the same. 

“There is a lot to do,” Aro continues, hand stroking Peter’s back, making him shiver, “many people to take care of. I would not recommend it, not truly.”

“Oh, good. Never been much for responsibility, personally. Leave that to people like you. I’m just here to enjoy myself.”

“A sensible goal,” Aro agrees, and presses a kiss to Peter’s head. 

“’M sorry I make you worry,” Peter tells him, “I’ll try not to get attacked any more.”

“Good,” Aro agrees, “another good goal for you. I would like to keep you safe forever, but not everywhere I go is safe for you, and I cannot always stay here, sadly.”

“I know,” Peter agrees, and yawns, “we’ll deal with that. For now I’m just glad you’re back. Missed you.”

He isn’t quite ready to say the words out loud yet, but he focuses on the love he feels for Aro as loudly as he can, willing Aro to hear it. 

“Me too,” he replies, very softly, so Peter can barely hear it.


	41. Road Trip

“How much longer?” Peter asks, glancing over at Lucian, who is trying, miserably, to make sense of some google maps directions.

“It is definitely either an hour more or fourteen and a half hours more,” he replies.

They are driving through the night, to a place where Lucian has had word some lycans are staying. Peter is driving, because Aro claims he has always had people to drive him, so why would he learn? Which Peter suspects is just because he wants Peter to come with, doesn’t want to leave him alone, because surely, with his literal perfect memory, he could figure it out. Lucian, similarly, says he did learn to drive in 1910, and apparently cars have far too many buttons these days, and Lucian doesn’t see why he should respect that. Which okay, yeah, Peter can get behind that attitude, even if that means he’s the one who’s gotta chauffeur these two spooky monsters with no driving license around town. 

Aro is in the back seat, having some sort of business call (Peter guesses), in rapid and entirely unintelligible Italian. He is very covered up, black gloves, dark hood down low over his face, dark sunglasses he has borrowed from Peter, because the sun only set half an hour ago, and even if it could be explained away as body glitter it is best not to. Peter keeps watching him in the mirror, whenever they hit red lights, fascinated by seeing what he is like when he’s not interacting with Peter or Lucian, when he is being the big scary Volturi leader. Although to be fair, he mostly seems annoyed, and a little tired, despite his supposed inability to be so.

“These people we’re hoping to find,” Peter asks, glancing once again at Lucian, his face lit up in the warm glow of the street lights outside, ever shifting, “they used to be part of your pack?”

Lucian shakes his head.

“They are not once I have met before, but they claim to have been turned by a lycan I know left for the new world in the early eighteen hundreds. And I am not sure how, otherwise, they could know of her, so I have to assume they are telling the truth.”

“Right,” Peter says, “so probably not a trap.”

“Probably not,” Lucian agrees.

-

“It’s a trap,” Lucian announces, the minute they step out of the car a few hundred feet from the address they’ve finally arrived at.

“Why?” Peter asks, assuming it’s something his clearly inferior human senses can’t pick up. 

“Smells like vampires.”

“Right. That does sound like a trap.”

“Vampires descended from Corvinus,” Lucian adds.

“Not good,” Peter mutters.

There are two loud bangs, and the car sags, suddenly, bullet sized holes having appeared in two of the wheels. Great. Now they’re stuck here. Aro puts himself between Peter and direction the bullets came from, though Peter is pretty sure he isn’t the main target here. He appreciates it, though. He’s been shot once, now, and though the wound has healed, there is still an angry red scar along his right upper arm. It’s not even a cool scar, having healed sort of crumpled, and not like a cool cut shape. 

Lucian heads up towards the building, while Aro shoves Peter behind the car, perhaps with the idea of cover, before disappearing, inhumanly fast, towards the direction of the shooter. Peter sighs. He should stay here, shouldn’t he? Hidden, safe. Useless. But he can hear voices from the house, multiple voices, and none are Lucian’s, so he is definitely outnumbered. And shouldn’t Peter try to help? Surely Aro won’t be any happier if Lucian is hurt? And that’s all the convincing Peter needs. He keeps low, just in case, getting a couple of stakes out of the car, and hurrying towards the house.

It’s a lonely building, at the end of a long drive way, far from nosey neighbours. Plains spread out behind the house, small dry trees dotting the landscape. He can see the appeal of a place like this for lycans. Plenty of space to run around under the full moon without anyone complaining about the howling. Do lycans howl? He should ask Lucian. Or maybe that’s rude, but honestly, how is Peter meant to know? It’s not like he can bloody google it to avoid causing offence, can he? Well, he could ask Aro, probably. But still. Using a vampire to learn lycan facts is probably also frowned upon, so. Take that, imaginary argumentative and offended Lucian that lives in Peter’s head.

The door is still half open, and Peter pushes it gently, trying not to make a sound as he enters. Probably, though, it’s useless. Everyone else here has super hearing. Sneaking won’t do any good, but he does so, anyway. He follows the noises he hears, the sounds of harsh words, at first, what he is beginning to recognise as Romanian, then the sounds of movements, fighting, probably. He is just about to open a door, when something impacts with his head hard enough to knock him to the ground, making the world go black.

-

Peter blinks. His head hurts. The fighting noises are still going on, so he can’t have been out for more than a few seconds, a minute or two at most. Which, as he understands head injuries, is probably good. His vision is a bit blurry, though, and when he tries to push himself up into a sitting position, he feels really dizzy, black creeping back into the edges of his vision again. On top of that, he seems to have acquired quite a few bruises as he went down. He sinks down again, judging that the fighting noises are coming from far enough away that it’s safe. His eyes close without much input from him.

-

Peter startles as he feels himself being lifted into the air. He had not heard anyone coming. It’s quiet, now, without the noise having noticeably died down. Did he lose consciousness again? It feels like those weird time skips he gets sometimes, when he drinks too much. There are arms behind his back and under his knees, and he is held gently, his head leaning against a chest. He tries to ask what’s happening, but all he manages is a groan. There is, he feels, a heartbeat in the chest he’s leaning against, and warmth. Why is it Lucian picking him up? Where is Aro? He tries, again, to ask, but his mouth isn’t cooperating. Instead, he focuses on Lucian’s arms around him, carrying him as if he weighs absolutely nothing. On the fact this is likely to be the only time he does.

Lucian deposits him carefully in the back seat of the car, and then he lifts Peter’s head, sticking his crumpled up coat under it as a makeshift pillow. It’s not actually softer than the car seat, but Peter appreciates the thought, and the fact that it smells like Lucian. 

“Wh- Wha happened?” Peter manages to ask.

“Vampires,” Lucian replies, “all vampires. There were never any lycans here.”

He sounds quite heartbroken, and Peter feels awful for him.

“’M sorry,” he tells him, groaning when he shifts and something pokes into what is clearly a large bruise on the back of his skull.

“Thank you,” Lucian says, voice soft and sad. 

-

The light is bright, even through Peter’s eyelids, and he turns his head away from it, wincing as he does. Why does his head hurt so much? He opens his eyes, and shivers. He’s in the back seat of the car, still, legs cramping from being curled up for hours. Aro’s cape is draped over him like a blanket, but it’s not quite enough. He pushes himself up, and sees Lucian curled up in the passenger seat. Without, Peter notices, his coat. He feels a bit guilty about that, but the man survived living in caves in Northern Canada for nearly a decade, so he’s probably okay. 

Peter gets out, managing to not make too much noise. Lucian doesn’t appear to wake up, but it’s hard to tell. He has his hood pulled down over his face to block out the sun, so just his beardy chin sticks out. Peter debates giving him Aro’s cape, but if he wakes up while Peter does so it would be super awkward, and also it’s just after sunrise, now, and the air hasn’t warmed up yet, so he puts it on instead. 

He finds Aro behind the house, facing the rising sun, glittering. It slightly ruins his otherwise imposing nature. Peter quite likes that. 

“I’m not sure vampires are supposed to enjoy the sunrise,” he says, walking up to him.

“And yet I manage.”

“Mm. Bit of a rebel in that way? That’s quite sexy,” Peter tells him, resting his chin on Aro’s shoulder, arms slipping around his waist.

He feels icy cold. Like a statue, but one whose hands curl around Peter’s.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bit like if someone hit me over the head with a hammer and then stuffed me in a car for eight hours.”

“It is not comfortable?”

“Maybe if I was two feet shorter. What happened?”

“We think it was one of the vampires. You had been tied up, so presumably you were intended to be, ah, consumed at a later point, had the vampires survived.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. And the whole… Everything? Lucian said there were just vampires, lying about the lycan thing, or something.”

“Yes,” Aro confirms, “it appears some of the vampires from his home had heard rumours he was in the Americas. I don’t know what we will do about it, but evidently it is not entirely safe to look for more lycans, not until we can make sure they truly are.”

“Oh. That’s- poor Lucian.”

“Indeed. He was quite upset. I think he got his hopes up a little, at being able to reunite with some lycans, at last. It’s hard on him, being alone.”

“Yeah, I get that. Not quite the same without other lycans, right? And hard for him to find others to turn.”

Peter leans in to kiss Aro’s cheek.

“I still think both of you might consider the many possible benefits of him turning you,” Aro says.

Peter groans.

“Yeah. He seems to very not want to. And I would like to stay human, thank you very much. And, look, okay, I get it. I get that I keep getting hurt, and that it kind of freaks you out, but that’s just. That’s just life.”

“It does not have to be.”

“I- No, it kind of does. Now, obviously, I don’t have any beef with lycans, right, I don’t… It’s not the same as vampires. It’s not the same sort of moral awful situation for me, personally, but it… Yeah. It looks pretty horrifying. And I don’t- I don’t want to have to know what dead vampire tastes like.”

“What about living vampire?” Aro suggests.

“You know I know what you taste like, and you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Aro acknowledges, “I simply… I worry. I care for you a great deal, Peter, and I do not think that I would deal well with you getting seriously hurt, or dying.”

“Well, no offence but I should fucking hope not? I mean. I’d kind of hope you’ll be upset when I die. But I mean, that’s a risk you take. And in case you’ve forgotten you were the one to start flirting with me.”

“Yes, but I assumed it would be much easier to convince you to let me bite you. People usually like the idea of being immortal and invulnerable.”

He pouts, and with his continued glittering it looks extra ridiculous, and so Peter sees no other option than to kiss the stupid look off his pretty face. It’s very efficient. When Peter pulls back, the sparkling is almost blinding. Aro turns his head a bit, frowning.

“Lucian is awake,” he says.

“Right. Then, lets figure out how we’re going to get home.”


	42. Coping Mechanisms, Questionable

Aro runs his fingers through the thick, coarse fur on Lucian's neck, the almost mane there. His large, heavy head is resting on Aro's chest, large black eyes open only a sliver. 

"You have been like this a lot lately."

_Like what?_

They are touching, skin to skin, so that they can carry on a conversation despite Lucian not currently having a mouth that allows for human speech.

"Wolf shaped. Not that I mind, of course, my love, but I am curious as to why?"

Lucian shrugs. His hand finds one of Aro's, long curling clawed fingers twining with Aro's shorter, more human and soft looking ones. Aro strokes his thumb over the rough, leathery pad on Lucian's palm.

_Spent years like this. Without changing back for months at a time. Weird being not like this all the time._

Aro bends at an unpleasant angle to kiss Lucian's snout. The wolf face is not one that is traditionally pretty, but there is something noble about the features that straddle the line between humanity and lupinity. He has seen in Peter's mind that it is terrifying, that it is not beautiful and elegant like a normal wolf is, but Aro has always thought this side of Lucian appealing. There is something in him that delights in the violence Lucian is capable of like this. That, and he is quite nice and affectionate. Something about being just enough wolf that however much he denies it he does enjoy Aro petting him.

"Are you certain that is all?"

One of the delights of Aro's mind reading capabilities is that he is one of the few non lycans who can in fact know what it feels like to be one, and he knows that there is some emotional dulling. That it becomes easier, when transformed, to push things away, to simply be.

_Probably not. Want to roam the Făgăraș mountains. Want to rip something to pieces. To not be alone._

Aro strokes his cheek, feeling the intense warmth of him, feeling terrible. He squeezes their interlocked hands.

"I know. You did get to rip apart some vampires the other day, did it not help at all?"

_Given the circumstances? No. Besides, it is not the same thing. Vampires taste dead. Not the same thing as prey, not the feeling of hot blood in your throat. I can only assume you understand._

Aro laughs, soft and quiet.

"Of course, my love. I'm sure there is something here you can hunt, even if the desert is less ideal."

_Too open. Not enough trees. Feels exposed. Too many lights and big roads. Too much of everything._

"That is indeed the problem with this country. Too much. I do hope we will manage to find a way to make it safe for you to return home. To stay, even if not at Volterra than at least somewhere somewhat closer."

_Do you think Castle Corvinus stands empty?_

"Are you certain that is somewhere you want to return?"

Lucian shakes his head. No, too many memories there, likely, and not enough of them good. A few moments with Sonja, yes, but more so memories of lashings and mistreatment, of having taken the castle at last, but only after losing the one he loves the most. Aro can see her face in his mind, her unnaturally bright blue eyes, almost glowing in the dark. She is deeply familiar to him, though he never met her. He had dealings with her father, but he never travelled to the castle during the thirteenth or fourteenth century, and so never had the chance. 

"I will do my utmost, again, when I return, to keep looking for further members of your pack. But it will not be easy, convincing them I am truly on your side, that you live and this is not some ploy to trick them."

_I know. I should have told them about you more, but I worried they would think me a traitor to my own cause. That they would think me weak, or reliant entirely o vampires._

"Which you of course only do for excellent sex," Aro agrees.

Lucian makes the noise Aro has come to understand as the lupine equivalent of a laugh. He shifts, curling up in a way that would challenge a human spine, shifting his head to lay over Aro's stomach, a clawed hand curling around his thigh, leaving little pale marks on Aro's skin. They will disappear immediately, of course, but Aro does enjoy that Lucian is one of the few creatures able to leave marks on him.

Lucian radiates affection, and like his warmth it soakes into Aro's skin, a steady stream of reassurance that he is loved, appreciated. Aro quite likes his powers sometimes. Likes that he can simply and truly experience the minds of others, and that Lucian so freely allows him to do so. Of course, he has gotten better at hiding things he wants to hide over the centuries, but Aro cannot fault him for that. Perhaps in time, Peter will allow him to do the same. Speaking of Peter, he ought to have been back by now, no? His show finished, Aro checks his phone, several hours ago. Probably out drinking. He can't expect him to only spend time with the two of them, after all. He has a life here.

-

Lucian stretches, groans as his body shrinks and reshapes itself, his skull becoming flat, his fur retreating into his body, claws turning into blunt, useless nails. He has evidently fallen asleep for a while, and momentarily he feels bad for trapping Aro in place. But then, after so long without each other he intends fully to take advantage now. He does miss his pack terribly, doesn't feel right alone, but he does appreciate that the lack of responsibility, of having to care for and look after so many allows him to spend so much time with his lover. Even if it does have to be here. They are in Peter's home, because after he returned this time Aro has absolutely refused to leave his side. And Lucian thinks he understands, though he himself has never been through the challenges of loving a human.

"Hello, my love," Aro says, stroking Lucian's hair.

He moves up so he can kiss him, eyes falling closed as he feels a cool touch on his cheek. 

"Sorry," Lucian says, "I did not intend to fall asleep." 

From behind the black out curtains he can see a thin line of daylight outside. He can't hear any other movement or sound in the flat, which is odd.

"Did Peter not return?"

"Not yet."

Aro sounds worried. Lucian kisses his cheek.

"He's fine. Probably just attempting to consume all the alcohol in America."

"Yes," Aro agrees.

He doesn't sound convinced. 

"Have you called him?"

"No. I do not wish to be.. I worry he thinks I worry too much."

"You can wonder why he has not returned home without it being further pressure on him to agree to let you bite him," Lucian assures him, "if you are concerned, call him."

Aro talks himself out of it for a few more minutes before eventually giving in. Lucian hears it ring thrice before the call is dropped. It sounds deliberate.

"He is fine," Lucian attempts to reassure him once more.

"You think so?"

Does he? Peter has been attacked multiple times due to his association with Aro, with both of them now. Still, when by sunset Peter has still not returned, and his phone appears to be off, they go out.

They split up, and start checking bars in an expanding radius from the hotel. Lucian can't catch his scent; it's been too long, and there are too many people and smells for him to be able to pin point Peter in the mess. Tracking is easier in nature. Less distraction. Not thousands of people adding artificial scents, not places making foods with too many smells, or all the exhaust from cars everywhere. So, human like, he is forced to go into places and look.

It takes him less than an hour to actually find Peter. He is in an older, slightly less bright and populated bar, curled up in a booth next to a table filled with a worrying amount of empty glasses. Lucian catches his scent as soon as he enters, even through the sour stale beer and sweat stench that permeates the room. 

He texts Aro that he has found him, telling him he will meet him back at Peter's place before approaching him. Peter seems barely conscious, trying to make his clearly dead phone obey, muttering at it.

"Peter?"

"No," Peter replies, before looking up, frowning for a moment before he lights up.

"Lucian! You're here. Why're you here?"

Lucian eyes the booth with suspicion, but sits down anyway. The fake leather is sticky. Peter looks as though he has not slept since last Lucian saw him, with dark circles, and a slightly manic look in his eyes. His hair is messier than usual, and he has not removed his fake tattoos after his show. 

“You never returned after your show. We haven’t seen you for over 24 hours, Peter. Aro worried.”

Lucian, he must admit, worried too. Peter sways gently. He seems, Lucian thinks, extremely drunk.

“Right,” Peter replies at last, “yeah, I- I needed to drink.”

“I see that, yes,” Lucian agrees, “but you wouldn’t answer Aro’s calls either.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, staring intently at a point just above Lucian’s left shoulder, “yeah. What? Shit. Yeah. I… There was something bad. Something bad happened. Needed to drink.”

“What happened?”

Peter frowns, then beams.

“Don’t remember! Drinking really- really works.”

“All right,” Lucian agrees, “I think we should get you home, all right?”

Peter pouts, but allows Lucian to drag him to his feet. Lucian drapes Peter’s arm around his shoulder, and half supports half carries him out. He sways a little in the still warm air outside, blinking at the bright lights.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” Peter says, leaning into Lucian a little more than he needs to, frowning, and then bending over and vomiting on the pavement.

Lucian sighs, and crouches down next to Peter, trying to ignore the smell, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Better?”

Peter wipes his mouth on his sleeve and Lucian decides when they get back he’s dumping him in the bathtub and if he passes out and drowns then that’s Aro’s problem. A shower is probably more efficient, but Peter doesn’t look as if standing up for long periods of time is going to be something he is capable of for a while.

“Urgh. Vodka and Redbull tastes worse the second time ‘round,” Peter complains, and struggles to his feet.

Lucian lets him lean on him heavily as they walk, very slowly, back towards Peter’s home. 

“Sorry Aro made you look for me,” Peter says, sounding for a moment almost sober.

“I do not mind,” Lucian reassures him, “though I must admit I wish my sense of smell was a bit less acute right now.”

Peter grimaces.

“Yeah, I… Sorry.”

They stop at corner shop and Peter buys some carbonated sugar water, which is probably a good idea. It seems to make him feel a little better, but not more sober. A trade off, perhaps. From what Lucian knows of human reactions to alcohol Peter is likely to have rather a terrible day tomorrow.

“Have I told you,” Peter asks as they approach the hotel, “that I like you?”

“Not in so many words, but I have, ah, gathered as much, yes.”

“You’re very pretty,” Peter continues as if he hasn’t heard, then frowns, “wait, cis men don’t like that. You’re… very pretty but in a manly way. And nice. And warm. Hot. Different temperature than Aro. Smell good. And wolf you is… cute? Not cute. Good? Soft.”

He continues rambling about Lucian’s vague and good qualities for the rest of their walk. And look. Lucian appreciates it. It’s nice, and though he is fairly certain Peter would not tell him this were he not astoundingly drunk, it’s still clear he actually means it, even if his phrasing is somewhat confused. In the lift, Peter leans his head against the cool mirrored wall, groaning.

“Head hurts,” he announces.

“I hear alcohol does that.”

Peter makes a frustrated noise.

“You’re a bit mean sometimes,” he mutters, “’s kinda hot.”

Lucian doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but luckily then the lift doors open to reveal Aro, trying to look as if he has not spend the last half hour nervously pacing, but Lucian knows him too well. Aro envelops Peter in a hug, giving Lucian a grateful look. Peter groans.

“I’m… going to go and throw up in the shower for a bit,” he announces, swaying with purpose in the direction of the bathroom.

Aro kisses Lucian’s cheek.

“Did you see anything in his mind?” Lucian asks when he hears the twin sounds of retching and running water, “he said something bad had happened, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“How dare you?” Aro demands haughtily, “I’ll have you know I respect his boundaries.

Lucian just looks at him.

“Fine. No. Not without delving deeper, and making him very aware of it, even in his… reduced state. He is mainly focused on how bad he feels. And how attractive you are, which is very understandable.”

“Naturally,” Lucian agrees, because it makes Aro smile.

Aro heats up some blood while they wait for Peter to finish suffering the consequences of his actions, and Lucian follows him into the living room, stealing his glass for a sip of hot blood. It tastes human, and Lucian wonders whether Peter is growing used to the idea now, of human blood being kept in his home.

Peter emerges a while later, smelling less bad, without his fake tattoos, wearing only a pair of loose trousers. He stretches out, resting his head in Aro’s lap, grabbing his hand and draping it over his head like a not very efficient ice pack. He looks more miserable than before.

“I’ve changed my mind on the importance of being human,” he announces with a groan.

“Oh?” 

Aro sounds far too excited.

“Hangovers not worth it?” Lucian pointedly asks, to not get Aro’s hopes up too much.

“No,” Peter replies, “remembered why I went drinking.”

“Oh? As bad as you feared?”

“Yep,” Peter confirms, “they’re cancelling my show.”


	43. Mildly Passive Aggressive Emotional Exposition

“They’re cancelling my show.”

Lucian sees Aro look relieved, but Peter is paying attention, fortunately.

“I’m very sorry, my love,” Aro says, stroking Peter’s forehead.

Lucian doesn’t love hearing Aro call Peter that, but he supposes it’s too late now, that’s what they are to each other. So perhaps, like they both seem to want, he ought to try harder. It’s not helpful to anyone, being jealous, it only makes him feel miserable. 

“It’s another two months, and then boom. I’m unemployed and homeless and the last decade of my life has been for fucking nothing.”

“That’s a little pessimistic, is it not?”

Peter groans, rolling over onto his side so his face is pressed into the fabric of Aro’s shirt.

 _Be nice_ , Lucian thinks, touching Aro’s hand so he will hear. He receives an insulted glare in response.

“Nope. I mean, why d’you think I live in the same hotel I perform in? Flat comes with the job.”

“Well, yes, but it is not as if you are impoverished or without opportunities. You will hardly be out on the street without a sestertius to your name.”

“Haven’t got any old Roman coins, so technically I will be. But yeah, I know, but I just… this has been my life for a bloody decade, more than a quarter of my entire life, and I don’t know what to do. And… I’m the cheesy goth vampire hunter guy, like what are people gonna hire me to do?”

“If,” Lucian interjects, “you haven’t paid for a place to live for a decade, then surely you have enough saved up that you do not have to worry about it for a while? And should you need it I feel certain Aro would be willing to assist you. He owns a third of Volterra.”

Aro makes a face that very efficiently communicates that yes, that is true, but it is not Lucian’s place to offer. Lucian smiles brightly back, and leans in to kiss his cheek. Peter grimaces.

“Yeah… Not really in the mood to think sensibly about it yet. I’m gonna… I’m gonna go sleep before I sober up enough to feel the consequences of my actions.”

He groans as he gets up, disappearing into the bedroom. Lucian almost expects Aro to follow him, but he doesn’t. Instead he leans his head on Lucian’s shoulder with a soft sigh. Lucian strokes his hair, holding him close.

-

“Well, fuck you too,” Peter tells the producer, and hangs up. 

“Negotiations not going well?” Aro asks, gesturing for Peter to join him on the sofa.

Peter shakes his head, and drapes himself across Aro, looping his arms around his neck. Aro kisses him, chaste and light and soft. 

“I could kill them for you, if you like?”

Peter laughs.

“Appreciate the offer, but I’m good. Well. Acceptable. No murder necessary.”

“A shame,” Aro mock laments, and Peter kisses him again.

“Are you okay with it?” he asks a few moments later, more serious now.

“Not okay with anything right now,” Peter mutters, “except you.”

“I feel honoured. Have you considered any more what you will do when it is over?”

Peter makes a noise, twining his fingers into Aro’s hair, which is so soft and silky it’s ridiculous. He’s only very slightly envious. Dimly he remembers having long hair and quite enjoying it, but also when one isn’t immortal and unchanging it’s so much more work. And, despite the two excellent examples of it in his home currently, he isn’t quite sure how to pull off long hair in a guy way without it going very metal fan, which isn’t his vibe at all.

“I have. Don’t know, though. I don’t… I don’t know if I could think of another show, get anyone to agree to have it. All my life, the theme has been vampires, y’know. And, man, starting over again… I don’t think I could do it.”

Aro is frowning at him, and it occurs to Peter he is saying precisely nothing. Which is also sort of what his thoughts are. A sort of helpless void where ideas float past, but they are slippery, like a bar of soap in a bathtub, evading his attempts to grab hold of them. 

“Considered dedicating myself to vampire hunting full time,” he continues, “but given the whole… you thing, that seems kind of hypocritical. Also I’d probably die in less than six months. Which honestly isn’t really feeling like a downside.”

“Peter,” Aro says, with that worried tone that historically has only filled Peter with self destructive spite.

Now, though, he feels bad.

“Mostly just a joke,” he promises.

“You know what would make that idea, the vampire hunting, I mean, not the suicidal tendencies, easier?”

“You genuinely think if you keep asking I’m just gonna eventually get so tired I agree to let you turn me just to make you shut up about it?”

Aro shrugs.

“Perhaps.”

“I mean, give it a couple of decades, you might wear me down.”

“Peter,” Aro begins, after a short, thoughtful pause, “I understand your not wanting to become a vampire. I do not necessarily agree, but I understand it. The losses and grief my kind has caused you, your issue with the morality of consuming human blood, that all makes sense. But I do not understand your insistence upon humanity in general, why you will not even consider letting Lucian bite you. I’m sure I could eventually convince him. You remain alive in all the more physical senses of the word, you become stronger, stop ageing, heal fast. Yes, you will have to sacrifice a single night of the month to being a wolf, and you ought probably to stop wearing silver jewellery, but those are rather minor sacrifices? And you have seen Lucian as a wolf, he is hardly the uncontrollable feral creature your human films show. He can be quite cute and cuddly when he wants to.”

Peter sees Aro glance at the other room, where Lucian is, trying to hunt down more former pack members online, and give a slight smile.

“It’s… Look. I’ve spent a lot of years getting my body to a point where I’m happy with it, right? To where looking at myself in the mirror doesn’t make me feel wrong. And I’m all for modifying your body, very obviously, to fit your needs, but it’s… Different. I’m scared that… That it would change me. Would fuck up my hormones. Or- or try to _heal_ my body back to the… what it was like before.”

Aro frowns.

“If anything, I would think lycanthropy would give you more body hair, rather than less.”

Peter nudges him, hard, scowling.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I- Yes, l see. I understand your worry. And I… I do not know. I don’t know whether any person like you has been turned. Or what the result would be. Have you asked Lucian?”

“Nah. Doesn’t seem like something he’s interested in doing, so. No point.”

Aro looks at him for a moment, then in the direction of where Lucian is. And perhaps Aro knows some more complicated short distance reverse telepathy, because in less than a minute Peter hears the scraping of chair legs against tile before Lucian appears in the doorway. Or perhaps they have just known each other so long that Lucian knows what Aro would have said. He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting for Aro to speak, and Peter is struck, as he often is, by how stupidly attractive he is. He is wearing a dark button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Peter is very into this look, and also the way the upper few buttons of the shirt are undone, revealing a triangle of pale skin.

“I assume you overheard?” Aro asks.

“I did.”

“And?”

Peter feels mildly uncomfortable about this exchange, sort of inferior, or less important, in the way he sometimes does in the presence of these two. Like despite the fact they are talking about him, he is almost incidental to the situation.

“And I do believe that your worries, Peter, are baseless. Of course, things were different, and the-” he waves his hand, gesturing vaguely, “exact medical techniques may have changed, but as I understand our condition, the… process of change takes whatever you currently are as your natural state. Just as being bitten doesn’t heal old scars or grow back lost limbs.”

“That- Not really the same thing, Lucian, but okay.”

“I know,” Lucian says, a bit softer now, a hint of apology in his voice, “it is simply that so far, it has been a more common issue. But I promise you, you would not, ah, regrow any parts of your body you have had removed, or anything similar. There have been others like you. Not many, but enough that I am fairly sure about this.”

“Huh,” Peter says.

Which is, of course, inadequate, but he needs time to work out what he feels about this. And, for that matter, about the fact that there are trans lycans. Which okay, obviously, trans people have always existed, even if perhaps mostly in secret, throughout history. He wonders, briefly, if Lucian could put him in contact with them, before he remembers Lucian’s whole entire current deal being that he can’t.

“That’s- good to know.”

Aro smiles, too satisfied for his own good, and Lucian sits down in one of the chairs opposite, clearly resigned to them having to talk about things now.

“Now would you mind,” Aro asks, “telling us in more detail why you do not wish to help Peter not die tragically early?”

“You mean on a normal human time scale?” Peter asks with a sigh, though he, too, is curious. 

Still, right now he feels he ought to be on Lucian’s side. 

“I have told you, Aro, that I do not want to create more lycans for me to lose. All- every lycan I turn is my responsibility. And after- Given what the vampires did to us, I do not feel comfortable creating more of us.”

Which is odd, because Lucian has already spent significant amounts of effort saving Peter on numerous occasions. But maybe that’s okay because it’s temporary. Peter will, eventually, die, and he is, at the end of the night, Aro’s responsibility, if anything. Peter doesn’t enjoy the idea of being anyone’s responsibility, but he can see their perspectives still. 

“Are you not, then, letting the vampires win?” Aro asks, as if he isn’t one.

Not the same kind, though, and perhaps that is enough.

“I am preventing more violence against my kind. I have been the cause of enough of it.”

“If,” Peter murmurs, “you are the first of your species aren’t you sort of definitionally the cause of everything to do with your people?”

Aro and Lucian both ignore him. Which is fair.

“You saw what happened,” Lucian continues, “the vampires have followed me here. We killed those, yes, but who is to say more are not coming? It was not that far away, even if it was in a different state. It isn’t safe.”

“...It isn’t safe,” Peter says slowly, “to make people more immortal.”

“To put targets on their backs that were not there before,” Lucian corrects.

“But you don’t- I don’t mean to say you don’t give a shit about humans, but like. Not in the same way. So effectively are you doing this to- I’m not sure I follow your logic. Surely, if there are enough lycans, eventually you will be numerous enough to wipe out the vampires, yeah?”

“I do not wish to commit genocide, Peter. I wish for them to treat us as equals, to make reparations for the centuries they kept us as slaves, and hunted us. Our species are as siblings are, we should be united, not trying to kill each other.”

“But you did kill those who came after you.”

“Yes,” Lucian explains, as if to a particularly unintelligent child, “because they were coming after me. We have been at war since the early fifteenth century. It is not what I want. It is their choice. Had they treated us right from the start there would have been no need. Had they not been ruled by their greed, their superiority complex, then no war would have been necessary.”

Which is, Peter supposes, a fair argument. He doesn’t think he would do the same in Lucian’s place, but he can see the sense in it, see where he is coming from, even though the nature of lycans makes the idea of it rather weird. Their potential lycanity, even though they already exist as people. Potential lycans. It’s confusing to Peter, but then Lucian has had eight hundred years to think about it, so he probably knows best.

“Okay, I- I think I sort of get it. And look, this is all Aro’s idea, we’re agreed on that, yeah, so. Definitely still not asking you to. Not- I respect your choices.”

“I know,” Lucian says.

It is not, Peter thinks, quite what Aro wanted, outcome-wise, but maybe it is some sort of progress. Peter knows, at the very least, that he has some serious introspection to do. And he is going to need a lot of alcohol to do it.


	44. Decision Making

Peter sits in the shower, water beating down on him, just a touch too hot, making his skin red and blotchy. His head is thrown back, partially to stare at the ceiling, mostly to avoid hot water in his eyes. It feels like the right place to be to consider his situation. With Lucian’s revelation that becoming a lycan will probably not fuck Peter’s body up too much, or, at the very least, not in the specific way he has feared, just in a being forcibly turned into a wolf monster once a month way, that makes his argument for staying human less convincing, even to him. Like Aro said, what, even, are the downsides? He can survive an allergy to silver, and the wolf thing would be scary, yes, and probably upsetting in a body horror sort of way, but he has gotten used to the way Lucian looks when he’s extra hairy, and as long as, as promised, he will keep his mind, then that is not so bad. He will, of course, be forever linked to Lucian, but he already owes him his life several times over, so really, what change is that?

He gets out of the water, eventually, but the steam is thick enough it hardly makes a difference. He wipes a clear spot into the mirror, trying to imagine himself with those eerie blue white eyes, sharp fangs. He can’t see it. Can’t see anything but regular dark brown eyes, blunt and harmless human teeth. Does he want it? Does he want eternal life? He’s not sure. The resilience, the strength, and the ability to heal, though, to simply flex bullets out of his body, even if they’re silver? Yeah, he wouldn’t mind that. Especially if he’s going to be serious about vampire hunting. And it’s tempting. The idea that if he is less weak, less likely to die or get seriously wounded, he can be much more efficient. He can actually do some good. Save people. And yes, okay, granted, vampires are people, but some of them do a whole lot of killing, but still, if he can save people, is it worth it? Will it offset his guilt at knowing that Aro definitely kills to eat? He promised to avoid doing so while in Vegas, yes, and is that part of the reason he goes back to Volterra so much? To kill without breaking his promise? If so, then that is sort of sweet, and also upsetting if he thinks too much about it.

As he towels his hair dry-ish he wonders whether his warming to the idea of being bitten is partly due to his feelings for Lucian. Does he think it will make him more inclined to like him back? If so, that’s a pretty drastic life choice to make for the off chance that that will be the case. Is it because he wants to please Aro? Because he feels guilty for worrying him? Maybe partly. And he won’t deny, at getting closer to 38, the idea of not ageing further is tempting. He pulls at the lines forming in the corners of his eyes, grimacing at his reflection. Vanity is a pretty bad reason for giving up his humanity, but he’s made worse choices. 

-

Peter buys a flat in preparation for his career and free housing coming to an end. It’s significantly smaller than his penthouse, because even at his salary the housing market is terrible, for everyone involved, but it does have a nice big black marble bathroom. It also looks out on the city, but only from the fifth floor, and it’s less central. But it does mean he still has enough money that he doesn’t need to worry about a job for a good while. Technically he probably never does, but he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea of Aro being his sugar daddy. 

There are, he finds, shockingly few things in his penthouse that are actually his. The things, yes, sure, his clothes, but none of the furniture, not his enormous television. The artefacts, though, his weapons, those are all late night internet purchases. Those are all his. Unfortunately, the new flat, being intended for normal habitation, does not have an entire hall dedicated to their display. There is, however, a second bedroom, which probably can fit some swords and ancient tomes. It will have to do.

He spends some time trying to hunt down new furniture. Fortunately, living alone, more or less, there is no one who can legally stop him from getting the absolute tackiest goth take on Versailles shit he wants. Aro does his best, though.

“Please, Peter, I can get you genuine antiques. This is- I appreciate your enthusiasm for this style, but- Peter this is horrendous.”

“Thanks,” he tells him, “I try.”

Aro leans over his shoulder, squinting at the screen of his laptop. Peter kisses his cheek, even as Aro’s eyes widen in horror.

“Is that a bat patterned sofa?”

“It absolutely fucking is,” Peter replies with a grin.

In his defence it is black on black, subtle, at least compared to the trio of bedazzled skulls he added to his cart a few minutes ago. It’s very Damian Hirst but, incomprehensibly, tackier. He wonders if he can get a mounted vampire bat skeleton. That would fit pretty good. He had a stuffed one once, but the little eyes kept staring at him, so he got rid of it. 

“This is not defensible,” Aro complains, “you have terrible taste.”

“Dating you, course I have,” Peter replies, and is rewarded with an offended pout.

“Kidding. Means I have impeccable taste.”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.”

Peter shifts in his chair, gesturing at Aro to come closer until he can lean his head against his chest. Aro wraps an arm around his shoulders. He can feel him prodding at his mind, trying to be subtle. Peter doesn’t try to stop him. What’s the point? Right now, he kind of wants to be convinced. Not, admittedly, of more tasteful furniture shopping, but of the other, arguably more important thing. He hears and feels a soft intake of breath, as, he must assume, Aro finds his thoughts from earlier.

“Truly?”

“Eeh,” Peter says non-committally, as though he can hide it.

He feels himself squeezed a little tighter.

“All right, all right.”

-

“What,” Aro begins, “would it take for you to change your mind?”

Lucian sighs.

“About?”

“Your refusal to turn more lycans?”

Lucian looks down at where they are joined, where Aro’s cock disappears into him. Helpfully, Aro has stopped moving.

“Is this really a conversation we have to have at this precise moment?”

“You have already been taking care of him,” Aro continues, as if not having heard him, “saved him, and he would need that less if he was not as prone to death.”

Lucian sighs again, and slumps back against the mattress. Evidently they are doing this now, the first time they have made love in at least twenty four hours, and this is what Aro wants to talk about. He is unsure why he thinks this might endear the idea to Lucian.

“He doesn’t want to,” he argues.

“Ah! I have excellent news. He is, in fact, starting to change his mind, to warm up to the thought of it. And, again, he will be less of a worry for you, however much you feel that every single lycan is your responsibility. Which they are not, you know.”

“Just because you choose not to take responsibility for your creations does not mean I do not have to,” Lucian replies, because he isn’t quite sure what to think about this news.

One the one hand, his objections remain as valid as they were. Peter seems uniquely skilled at getting into trouble, and Lucian highly doubts this will change. If anything, the resilience of a lycan will simply allow him to throw himself directly at even more danger. He seems the type to decide to pick fights with vampires far stronger than himself. But. But. The idea of having another lycan nearby? To have something more properly like a pack? It is tempting, he cannot deny it.

“I do,” Aro insists, “I take care of much of the vampire society. You know this. It is simply a different, and, perhaps, less hands on than yours. Besides. You’ve not answered my question.”

Lucian looks away, but it is challenging when they are so thoroughly intertwined as they are currently. His cock has slightly lost it’s enthusiasm by now, though Aro, perhaps worryingly, does not seem to suffer the same consequences. Lucian can only speculate what this implies. He prefers not to.

“Fine,” he says, then worries that Aro will choose to take this as explicit agreement, however much he can absolutely see what Lucian’s meaning is in his head, “I admit that you do. And, well. If that is truly the case, then I may consider it. And I will talk to him. Without your interference, ideally.”

“I would never,” Aro says, mostly a joke.

He pulls a smile from Lucian, because he always does, and leans down to kiss him. Lucian pushes his hands, almost claws, into Aro’s hair, holding him close, nearing getting back into the mood.

“Now that we’re agreed, would you please get back to fucking me?”

“Always, my love,” Aro promises with a smile revealing the glint of fangs.

-

Peter has over the last few weeks been gradually moving to his new place. He stays in his penthouse, naturally, because only having to get on a lift to get to work is about as much of a commute as he is willing to commit to, but it is starting to feel a bit empty. Mostly Aro stays there with him, still very reluctant to leave him after the attack. But he spends days, often, with Lucian, while the sun is out and Peter is safe. Which is fair enough. Peter has stuff to do, now. Being fired and evicted, as he insists on thinking of it, though that’s not technically quite the case, is surprisingly much work. He had gotten yelled at, though, a little bit, for phrasing it like that. Apparently some of the women in his show, who make considerably less than him and also do not get complimentary housing, do not feel particularly sorry for him. But they’re stupidly hot and mostly pretty talented, and he doesn’t think they’ll have trouble getting a similar job. 

As expected, Aro has really latched onto Peter’s warming up to the idea of being some brand of sort of immortal, but Lucian less so. Well, he’s said they’ll talk about it, but the opportunity has yet to arise. It feels, weirdly, like he has let Aro have his will. Which isn’t too far from the truth, technically. He wants to feel like it’s something he is deciding for himself, but it’s hard to separate the two, even in his own mind. Aro may not actually have supernatural mind changing powers, but he has regular ones, is fairly good at making others come around to his way of thinking. And Peter should resent him for this, really, but he doesn’t have the energy. After all, it is for him, isn’t it? His own good, his own preservation? 

It’s a bit to do, he thinks, with having his whole life change. If he hadn’t lost his job, hadn’t have to stop doing the thing he’s been doing for most of his adult life, now, it would probably be different. A bit different. People would notice. He would have something else in his life, but now? Now there is nothing. Which whatever part of his mind got something out of therapy realises isn’t the best state of mind to be making irreversible life decisions in. But it’s fine, because he’s not made his mind up. And Lucian might very well refuse, anyway. And he is in a happy long term relationship, and what is he doing, really, but possibly facilitating it’s becoming even more long term? And Lucian, whatever his claims, is basically human, right? Just- better? Not better. More optimised for survival? Yeah, that sounds right.

-

“Are those bats on that sofa?” Lucian demands with something between distrust and amusement.

“Possibly,” Peter replies, “depending on if you’re gonna bully me about it too.”

“No, no. It’s, ah…” he hesitates, before settling for “fitting.”

“You’re better at diplomacy than Aro. Beer?”

“Thank you, yes. And I am not. He can be nice, really, when there is something in it for him.”

“Unlike being nice to his boyfriend?”

“Clearly futile.”

Peter makes a face, getting two beers out of the fridge and flicking off the caps. The bat sofa, upon testing, was sort of horrendously uncomfortable, and he loves it wholeheartedly. There are stacks of boxes everywhere, but some things are unpacked. The most fragile of his collector’s items. A handful of swords, which lay in a pile on the coffee table. Lucian pokes at them, looking closer.

“These aren’t very well made.”

“What? Impossible. Paid loads for them. How can you tell?”

“Blacksmith.”

“Right. Used to make swords. Look, I know the whole, uh, reason you did that wasn’t great, but that’s really cool.”

“It’s fine. Swords are, as you say, quite cool. We haven’t… we switched to guns, around when humans did. They are more efficient, yes, especially the ones that allow you to make UV light bullets. Although, unfortunately the vampires did similar things with silver. But they lack the style and craftsmanship of swords.”

“Yeah. Not a huge fan of things either.”

“Yet you use one?” Lucian asks.

“I mean. It’s a shotgun that shoots miniature stakes. It’s basically just a noisy crossbow.”

“I suppose.”

“Right. You ready to talk to me about werewolves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am   
> so sleepy forgive me if many errors  
> hope this isn't changing like. Too fast. Personally I make decisions by ruminating for ages and then, seemingly suddenly, making my mind up, because much of my thinking is sort of... somewhat subconscious. And so. I guess I project that onto characters I write a bit but. This was always the direction i wanted to go. Good night. At 11:20 am. But still.


	45. Werewolves in Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian and Peter have a talk.

“Lycans, Peter.”

“Lycans,” Peter agrees, “sorry. I would, though, I know that’s not how you use the word, because it means the like. Original ones, who can’t turn human again, but conceptually, lycans are a kind of werewolf. I mean, same word. Lycantrophy. Lykos plus anthropos. Wolf Man.”

“Has Aro been trying to teach you Greek?” Lucian asks, amused, not answering the question.

“Not very successfully. I did know this before. You know, I have done a lot of research on vampires and werewolves. And I mean, by this, werewolves, wasn’t aware of lycans at the time. And sure, it is from human sources, and most of it is wildly inaccurate, but I have studied it a lot. And obviously, a lot of it, too, is true. Full moon. Silver. More for vampires. Don’t know why. Closer to humans, maybe. Which, in your and Aro’s case, not really true. But it’s easier to believe, maybe, someone drinking blood, than someone turning into a wolf.”

Lucian nods.

“I know. I know you have spent a lot of time researching, and I respect that, even if it’s wrong. But I am glad much of it is wrong. The less humans truly know of us the better. We have not, but I strongly suspect Aro, or at least the Volturi, of spreading a lot of these myths. Though of course, it is the case for certain species. And yes, as you say. We are, I suppose, werewolves in that sense. But I really do prefer lycan.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I am- I’ll be better. Promise.”

Lucian smiles, and it’s soft and small and Peter thinks he should probably do more to inspire its return. 

“So. What is it that made you change your mind?” Lucian asks.

“Eeh. Not sure I’ve changed my mind entirely. But… Yeah, you saying it won’t fuck my body up, at least other than the turning into a wolf thing, that helped. And the… All the times this last year I’ve gotten hurt, realising I really can’t do vampire hunting on my own, I’m not good enough. Not strong enough. Probably can’t be. All that’s gonna happen is I’m going to get myself killed, or worse, turned into a vampire. And I love Aro, I do, but- I can’t do that. Can’t be that.”

“But you can be a lycan?”

“I mean, that depends on you, doesn’t it? But yeah? You- I see the way you are, and I have to believe that’s what all lycans are like. Not preying on humans, just different than us. And yeah, lately, I’ve been rethinking my stance on the importance of getting hurt and dying. The thing that’s scary, right, about being bitten, is the idea of losing control. Of attacking people against my will. Like a starved vampire, however good their intentions, will eat and probably kill a human. Or turn them. Depends on the kind of vampire, I guess. And I used to think that, too, about werewolves. In most of the lore, not all, but most, you get turned into some feral beast that kills people. In the films they always go after their loved ones. And that’s terrifying. Just, like you, turning into something that is yes, different, and scary looking, but you keep your mind? That doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Mostly,” Lucian corrects.

“Mostly?”

“Yes. You mostly keep your mind. I do not say this to scare you, but it is the case. Not in a way, of course, where you are not in charge of your actions, but it is… different.”

He shifts his position on the uncomfortable sofa, takes a drink of his beer. He looks thoughtful. He looks pretty.

“You are more driven by instinct. And that instinct does not go against your feelings, you won’t attack anyone you care about. But perhaps you might be slightly more inclined to attack someone who is attacking those you care about. There is the need to hunt. The desire to tear prey apart. Some of the bitten lycans I know have said that part was jarring to them.”

“Right. But that’s like. When you’re all wolfy, not all the time?”

Lucian nods. And okay. That sounds a bit off-putting. Peter’s always been a bit suspicious of people who enjoy hunting, but this is different, isn’t it? It’s probably different. It’s with your teeth and claws, not sighted rifles at a hundred metre range. Fair. Well, much as anything can be when you’re a great big wolf creature. And presumably for eating, not like. Creepily stuffing sand in a corpse and putting it on your wall or whatever. 

“And the- the bitten lycans. Are there any who regret it? Being turned?”

“A few,” Lucian confirms, “some fail to consider their loved ones. They do not deal well with seeing them grow old and die, nor with being apart from society at large. And now, in modern times, it is easier. You can start anew every decade or so in a new place, but any longer than that it will become very obvious that you do not age. And that seems a long time now, but it really isn’t.”

“Right. Right. I don’t… God that’s depressing to say out loud, but… There’s not that many people that I’m close to. Don’t have any family I’ve seen in the last five years. Got friends, got coll- well. Had colleagues, but. No one really close. Fuck, that’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it.”

He gets up, walks over to the window, not quite as floor length as in his old place, leaning against the wall and looking out at the city. What does he have, really, to connect him to this place? To humanity? He has a lot of very casual connections to people, but without his job, who will even notice if he disappears? Who will miss him? 

“That might make it easier,” Lucian says gently, “leaving things behind. And you have people who care for you. Even if not humans, it still counts.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, with little conviction.

“But you still have to remember, there is no going back. You cannot change your mind.”

“No, I know. But what’s that mean, then. Can’t grow old or sick? Doesn’t sound like much of a drawback.”

“No,” agrees Lucian, “but we are still hunted by the vampires. Not as actively now as we were, but they are still, unfortunately, our enemies. Some of the old covens, I believe, broke down, but I do not think the ones who remain will look more kindly upon us. As, naturally, you witnessed. And we may be powerful and hard to kill, but it is certainly not impossible.”

“Yeah, I know, silver and stuff.”

“Yes, silver. But also anything that destroys our bodies beyond repair. Decapitation. Sufficient fire. We are not immortal.”

“I’m gonna be honest, that’s more of a pro than a con. Part of the reason Aro’s kind seem so… I mean, obviously inhuman, but just the sheer indestructibility of them. It’s unsettling.”

He returns to the sofa, curling up, knees held to his chest. It’s getting dark outside.

“I would like you to really look at the wolf,” Lucian says after a moment, “to be entirely sure this is something you are okay with being. How inhuman it is, how unnatural, to you.”

“Are you saying you will, then? You’ve changed your mind?”

“Not entirely. But I am… considering it. But I need you to fully understand what it is you are asking. Or considering asking.”

“Sure,” Peter says, “sure it’s that? You don’t just want to get naked in front of me? Because you don’t need an excuse, promise.”

“Peter please take this seriously.”

“Yep. Sorry. And- And yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You want to- now?”

Lucian nods, and so Peter goes to close all the black out curtains. The downside of not living on the top floor of one of the tallest buildings around is that, horrifically, other people can see into his home. When he finishes, Lucian has taken off his shirt, is working on his belt, and Peter desperately wants to watch, but he’s trying not to be a creep, so he becomes suddenly very interested in his twitter notifications. 

“The change, too,” Lucian tells him a minute later, and when Peter looks up he is naked.

He very pointedly doesn’t look at anything below Lucian’s chest, feels his face go a bit warm.

“Yeah,” he replies dumbly. 

Unlike he has done the handful of times he has seen it before, he tries very hard, as he watches, to picture it happening to himself. The stretching and changing. The sound of bones shifting and moving, the grotesque clay-like reforming of the skull. It’s not pleasant. Of course it’s not. It’s not something human bodies are meant to go through, and he’s pretty certain he’s making faces, but it’s not more than he can deal with, he thinks. Can get used to.

At his full height, Lucian now towers over Peter. He bares his fangs, snarls at Peter, hoping perhaps to make him flinch. He doesn’t. Instead, he takes a few steps closer, until he can feel Lucian’s breath against his face. He half reaches a hand up, then hesitates.

“Can I?”

Lucian nods. There is something very odd about seeing a very large horror movie antagonist nod. Carefully Peter touches the skin of his cheek. It’s dark grey, but lighter than his charcoal, almost black fur. It feels odd to the touch, stiff and leathery. The fur is coarse, thick. He tries not to think about the fact that this is Lucian, that he is, sort of, petting his face. Tries to look at it like examining a strange creature. Which he also, technically, is. He looks into one pitch black eye.

“This isn’t putting me off, you know,” he tells him. 

Lucian doesn’t react, not really. It’s hard to read wolf facial expressions. He doesn’t have the fluffy, expressive ears of a normal wolf, either, but pointed hairless things, twisted backwards, like they didn’t quite finish changing. Peter circles Lucian, taking in the thick, oversized neck, the long arms ending in sharp claws. The lack of a tail which makes his butt look weirdly human. Legs not quite flat, not like a wolf’s. The legs are weird, bent, toes turned into paws, ankles high off the ground. 

“Really,” he continues, taking Lucian’s hand in his own, seeing how much larger it is, running a finger over the sharp point of an inch long claw, “I mean. It would be weird, definitely, and sure, you look big and scary right now, but it’s… It’s you, right? So I know the biggest risk is you shedding all over my new furniture. And I’m sure, if you do decide you’re willing to turn me, that it’ll still be upsetting, the first time. Hard for it not to be, but. It’s not a deal breaker. Might have been, before I met you, but I know you, Lucian. Maybe not extremely well, not yet, but I know both parts of you, and this one is just. Less talkative than the other?”

He releases Lucian’s hand, sits back down, legs crossed, looking up at Lucian. He huffs, then starts changing back. Peter isn’t sure whether this or the other way round is the most upsetting part to watch. Both, he decides. But then, if this happens to him, it won’t be him looking at it. He politely averts his eyes as soon as Lucian is human enough that it feels appropriate to do so. Listens to the rustling of fabric as Lucian dresses, concentrating on picking at his already chipped black nail varnish. Looks up when he feels the sofa dip as Lucian sits down, watches his face. He’s worried, but at this point he isn’t entirely certain what about.

“All right,” Lucian says, “if you are entirely sure this is what you want, or when you become so, I will bite you. But- but not right away. Take time to think it over. Is this agreeable?”

“Very yes.”


End file.
